Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton
by GlassParade
Summary: <html><head></head>Holly Holliday finds herself at Dalton Academy after all hell breaks loose in Blaine Anderson's formerly orderly life. Take one lost teen, add an unconventional teacher and the Warblers, and wonder if Dalton and its inhabitants will ever be the same...</html>
1. Prologue: Letters

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_I liked Holly Holliday, and I love the Warblers, and I thought it would be deeply amusing to put the two together following the events of "Night of Neglect." I don't really have any idea what I'm doing. I know I don't own Glee, I know I am going to be both pulling from and bucking canon (In my universe, Westerville is still nearly two hours from Lima, thank you, I AM a boring stickler for geography), and really I just had to get this out of my head so I could sleep at night without my brain automatically heading to Dalton and creating preposterous scenarios._

_Also, I love Klaine, seriously adore that ship, but for all that there's not a lot of Kurt in this. I wanted to explore something different. There's lots of seriously gorgeous Klaine focused fics out there, and I wasn't feeling up to messing with romantic entanglements!...much._

_This is an entirely ludicrous thing. I know that. I just hope it's also readable. Spoilers through "Born This Way," I keep the language generally clean, I can't write sex scenes without making myself choke laughing, and this first bit is only short because we're setting the scene, folks._

_Sorry if you get a story alert on this. Despite repeatedly telling myself to NOT put Columbus as Blaine's hometown...I put Columbus. So I had to fix it because the only way Blaine could not reasonably commute from Columbus to Westerville is if his legs are broken. I'll put poor adorable Blaine through a lot for the sake of the narrative, but I'm not breaking his legs, so I had to fix. Apologies!_

_**Prologue – Letters**_

Holly Holliday stared in bemused amusement at the letter in her hand.

Thick, creamy paper that she knew was expensive; she could see the individual threads in it. Black ink scribed out a message in perfect textbook copperplate. An actual honest-to-goodness red wax seal had secured the envelope and a heraldic letter "D" was stamped precisely in the center of the blob.

All in all, she reflected, it was a highly unorthodox method of asking someone to substitute teach at their school. She had to admit, though, she found the unorthodox appealing, and her French teaching gig having ended unexpectedly early - she supposed that it hadn't been a good idea to have the kids read "Les Liaisons Dangereuses," but she _had_ achieved the highest vocabulary test scores for that class in years - she found herself rather at loose ends.

Not to mention the thinning pocketbook.

Tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, she bent her head over the letter again. Two months worth of geography subbing at an elite boy's preparatory school in Westerville, right at the end of the year, it was both a good and a bad offer. Good, because she liked geography, even if it didn't offer the costume opportunities that history did. Bad, because she'd be in charge of year-end exams, and who liked exams? Hopefully the regular teacher had left a good lesson plan behind that she could riff off of. She thought the odds of that might be good, assuming she was correct in expecting that a prep school would have fairly high standards for its faculty.

Holly did not dwell on the fleeting thought that she would almost certainly not measure up to those standards. Holly Holliday did not believe in dwelling. "If you can't make it, fake it," she announced to her empty matchbox of a living room. She ignored the slightly silly feeling that had called up.

Casting a glance back up at the letterhead made her furrow her brows in thought. Dalton Academy...why did that sound familiar? It seemed like she'd heard about it recently - oh yes. At the McKinley High Night of Neglect benefit. Pushing aside the more depressing memories of that evening, she picked out the remembrance of two neatly dressed, well-mannered young men. Kurt Hummel she remembered from her first stint at McKinley High. He'd evidently transferred to Dalton, where he'd met the boy he'd brought as his date. They had come to support Kurt's friends in New Directions.

Well. That would be nice. Familiar faces and all.

If she accepted the position.

"Which you will," she sighed to herself. "A girl's got to eat." But she didn't put the letter down. Didn't pick up her phone to immediately call and accept the job. She wanted to _think _about it. Which was odd.

Holly was usually impulsive and a little reckless and definitely open to teaching any subject at any school in pretty much any way she saw fit, but she thought maybe this time she might get a little more information before actually accepting the job. She wasn't sure what was stopping her. Maybe it was that it really was weird to be offered a temporary teaching job via formal letter complete with signet seal. Who does that?

Or maybe it was that it was an all boys private school, a completely foreign concept to her from a teaching standpoint. They'd be stodgy and traditional, like in "Dead Poets Society," and she was stodgy and traditional's worst nightmare. It would be oil and water. Coffee and cayenne. White phosphorus and open air.

But she needed a job. More to the point, she needed something to distract her from the nagging feeling that she could have possibly maybe very slightly blown a good thing in Lima. She did not care for the feeling of second-guessing her decisions. She liked challenges. She would probably have to restrain herself a little in order to get by at this Dalton Academy. That would be a challenge. That would be distracting. Annoying, of course, but ultimately challenging and distracting.

Definitely a good idea to know what she was walking into, she concluded. Two months before summer break and the subsequent lack of teaching jobs unless you wanted to help wrangle summer school (she didn't), it would be good if she could manage to not blow this one. Prior knowledge would surely be an asset in that regard.

God, she was already thinking in some sort of bizarre formal mode of speech. If she didn't watch it, she'd end up sipping cups of weak tea with her pinky held out, declaiming things to be "fraitfully noice."

That...might have been slightly judgmental, she decided.

Okay. Maybe just have a look see and a chat with the headmaster. Yes. That never harmed anyone, and it didn't oblige her to take the job. She picked up her phone and punched in the number from the letter.

"Hello, my name is Holly Holliday, and I've received a letter about a substitute teaching position..."

* * *

><p>Blaine Anderson was having one hell of a bad week.<p>

"I do not believe this," he muttered.

Nick looked up from his calculus homework. "Believe what?"

Blaine said nothing. He fiddled with a piece of heavy, cream colored stationery for a moment before tossing it on his roommate's desk. Curious and welcoming any break from the detested mathematics, Nick picked it up.

It only took a minute or two for him to discern the very, very bad news.

"No way."

"I assure you, Nick. Way."

"But...they can't do this."

Blaine spread his hands out and felt his mouth curl up in a sardonic smirk. "And yet here we are, they having done it." He thought his sentence might be syntactically awkward...never mind. He had bigger things he needed to worry about.

"But, dude! They're kicking you out of the dorm!"

"Technically, they're just asking me to not return to the dorm next year - I can finish the year here." He began to pace, shoving his hand through his hair and pulling a little in agitation. "But that effectively expels me. I can't reasonably commute here from Toledo."

Nick leaped up from his seat, scattering textbooks and paper everywhere. "No way. No way! You're our lead Warbler! We need you to get us back to Regionals next year, especially since we lost Hummel to McKinley!"

At that, Blaine had to turn away for a moment. He was really, _really_ having a bad week. Starting with his boyfriend's decision to return to the public school he'd come from, to the farewell party at Newport Hall that got entirely out of hand, and now the letter politely asking him to, at the end of the semester, pack his things and get the hell out. It was a wonder he hadn't ground all of his molars down to stumps, his jaw was clenched so tight.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder, startling him out of the roiling clouds of his thoughts, and he turned to see Nick staring worriedly at him. "Sorry, man. Didn't mean to zone out there. I'm just trying to..."

"Work it all out. I know. Sorry I brought up Kurt leaving."

"S'all right." Except it wasn't. He already missed Kurt. They'd just found each other, for crying out loud, and Kurt just decides to up and leave?

Not that he wasn't supportive. God no. He was proud of his boyfriend, actually. It was just...maybe he felt slightly abandoned. And envious. He didn't think he could be strong enough to go back to the cesspit of his own former high school, and here was Kurt, taking his by storm. "Courage," Blaine had texted him. Now he had to laugh; Kurt was the bravest person he knew. Talk about projecting your issues.

He sighed. Nick clapped him on the shoulder again and sighed too. "There's got to be a way to work this out, Blaine."

"I don't know. Maybe." He looked up at his roommate. "I'd better tell the others though. Get them prepared."

"We have practice this afternoon."

Blaine shook his head, causing his usually aggressively tidy hair - shifted loose by his aggravated rumpling - to fall forward over his forehead. "No. Too soon. I'm still processing. But this week for sure. I have to work out how to tell them." He glanced at his friend, who had returned to his homework. "Listen, Nick...don't say anything yet, okay? Not even to Jeff."

"Of course not." Nick actually looked offended, and Blaine looked down in guilt for assuming. "Well, not if you help me with this calculus. Since Kurt left, I haven't had anyone to copy off of."

Blaine felt less guilty then, so much less guilty that he didn't feel even the slightest twinge of remorse when the pillow he hurled across the room caught Nick off-guard and off-balance, toppling him right out of his chair.

_To be continued..._


	2. Something Completely Different

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton **

_So...okay! HI THERE. I had no idea there would be other people interested in exploring the dynamic between our favorite free-spirited substitute teacher and the Dapper Dandies of Dalton. You learn something new every day. Thank you for the reviews and the story alerts; I'm genuinely stunned and sort of want to hug you all for indulging my freak caprice._

_We are heavy on the Holly in this one, and I will try - but make no promises - to get the next chapter up soonish to make up for the lack of Blaine. I have things kind of mapped out and I write something every day, but I'm feeling my way through it all. I can tell you that the next chapter is where the lives of our unlikely compatriots actually begin to dovetail._

_Or collide violently, depending on how good or bad an idea you think this is. I have moments where it could go either way._

_In response to one of the reviews asking if I am a sir or a madam...I am a madam. Well. Not a MADAM madam...I mean...you know. I'm a girl. A good one! Mostly._

_Oh, onward, shall we? Remember, Glee isn't mine, I just like to play with it sometimes. Spoilers through "Born This Way," language is mostly clean, and I am incapable of writing smut without giggling like a loon, so there isn't any and won't ever be because I am, like, twelve or something. Plus at some point we are totally going to be playing with timelines like taffy and it's gonna be totally awesome. Tally ho!_

Apologies if you get another story alert about this; I caught a couple of errors that slid past me on the final edit and just had to correct them.

_**Chapter One - Something Completely Different**_

Gates. There were actual gates. Big, wrought iron, bolted to sturdy brick pillars gates. And beyond them, she could see ivy covered buildings that were the very epitome of the word imposing.

Holly was willing to bet, too, that there'd be no metal detectors or rent-a-cops around. Only tweed-clad teachers, overly conscientious students, and over it all the air of Old Money. "Oh, this is a mistake," she groaned, thumping her hand gently on the steering wheel of her car.

"Excuse me?" The disembodied voice crackled out of the speaker box outside of the rolled-down window, making her jump. They must have heard her idling and decided to take action when she didn't call them.

"Erm…Holly Holliday to see Headmaster Michaelson."

"Pull through the gates when they open, please, and follow the signs to Administration." A shrill beep sounded, and the wrought iron began slowly creaking back to permit her tiny Civic to enter. It seemed to take an eternity.

As did the drive to Administration. The winding road had to have been designed to take you around every possible inch of Dalton's perfectly manicured grounds, and the 15 mile per hour speed limit made sure you had a chance to really appreciate the scenery. Presumably the limit also assured that you didn't hit any one of the dozens of smiling, blue-blazered teenage boys that were...not scurrying, that was definitely too undignified a word for it...moving with haste between a clutch of buildings that looked like they might have housed classrooms. Good, maybe that meant she was close to her destination.

_Oh, **please** let me be close to my destination, _she thought after fifteen minutes. No school had any right to be this enormous, she didn't care if it _was_ privately funded. And would you just look at those box hedges.

Was that really a topiary sculpture of the Parthenon? To scale? She slowed down even more to get a better look.

She didn't notice that she'd caught the particular attention of two boys who stared intently at her car when she came to almost a full stop in order to wonder at the leafy Greek temple.

"Not a new student," Flint Wilson concluded after a moment of contemplation. "There's only one person in there."

"They're obeying the speed limit," Nick scoffed. "Who even does that?"

"People more careful than you, Mr. Holds The Ohio State Record For Most Speeding Tickets As An Unlicensed Driver," snapped the older boy as he bit into a crisp green pear. "Your roommate volunteers in the front office, did he say anything about a new teacher?"

Nick glowered, shoving his hands deep into his blazer pockets. "Jerk. No, he didn't. He's got a lot going on tho-" He cut himself off, remembering the promise he'd made to Blaine. Even if his roommate had rudely declined to help with the calculus, it still wasn't Nick's business to tell everyone about the letter - though he heartily wished Blaine would get on with it already, so he could stop policing his conversations.

But Blaine was so _slow. _Remembering how long it had taken his friend to actually make a move on Kurt, Nick couldn't help but let out a small agonized groan. Flint looked at him oddly.

"You okay, man?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Um...stomach cramp."

"I keep telling you, you have to eat fruits and vegetables at lunch, dude. It's the only way to survive cafeteria food." Flint gestured with his own piece of fruit and didn't appear to notice the near slip. Nick wasn't about to point it out.

"I'll ask Blaine if he knows anything, when I get back to the room," he volunteered. "He's not working today, so he should be there now. I'll go see. Right away." _Before I say anything I might regret._

Flint shot him another odd look, but just nodded amiably instead of pursuing a line of questioning. "Right on. Stay excellent." He saluted with his pear as the younger boy left.

Hitching the strap of his satchel over his shoulder, Nick waved back at his friend and jogged off before he screwed up irreversibly. He hoped Blaine _did _have some information. Not only about the possible new teacher, but maybe his timetable for telling the Warblers he might have to leave. Nick was going to explode, or develop an ulcer, or _something_ if his roommate didn't get into gear.

Keeping secrets, he decided, was a seriously hazardous business. He might have to start charging for it.

As he passed the compact car that was all but crawling down Dalton's perfectly paved roads, he smiled at its pretty blonde occupant. Her sunny answering smile nearly obliterated his sour mood and made him send a quick prayer to God, Buddha, Allah - whoever was listening - that she actually was a new teacher. That smile could go a long way towards making him forget his annoyance.

These kids did seem awfully polite, Holly noted as she spotted a parking lot behind what looked like the last sign pointing her towards Administration. At last! She parked carefully in one of the slots marked "Visitor" and took a moment to sit and look up at the hulking, ivy-covered building before her. "For Christ's sake," she muttered. "Did they get this building from Central Casting?" She was pretty sure she'd seen it in a movie _somewhere._

The alarm on her phone beeped. Five minutes to showtime. Heaving a sigh, she climbed out of her car and brushed her palms down her uncharacteristically knee-length skirt to smooth out any driving wrinkles. She'd had to dig the skirt out of the back of her closet, where it had languished for years. It felt distinctly odd to not be wearing knee high boots and a miniskirt, but again, in the interests of possibly scoring a gig through the end of the school year, she thought a few concessions might be in order.

She wondered if that would be the last time she thought that. Looking at the polished oak doors and precisely trimmed lawns, she doubted it, and she worried again about her tolerance for restraint.

"Talking to the Headmaster does not oblige you to accept the job. Talking to the Headmaster does not oblige you to accept the job. Talking to the…" Holly kept up the impromptu mantra until she'd opened the door to the Administration building, then relegated it to silent repetition in the back of her mind. "Hello?"

She'd entered a large anteroom filled with antique couches and end tables. A desk stood empty to her right, the wooden plaque indicating it was the domain of a "Mrs. Waterstone." Holly guessed that was the motherly woman who bustled out of a side door at her call, hands full of papers and eyes full of apologies. "You must be Miss Holliday! I'm so sorry no one was here to greet you. My assistant is off today, and I am really missing his organizational skills." The woman's attitude was as cheerful as her dress was floral…which was to say, oh, so very much. Holly found herself smiling in return, despite the abundance of Laura Ashley.

Geez, she hoped they didn't expect _her_ to wear Laura Ashley. She'd definitely turn down the job in a heartbeat if that was the case.

"It wasn't any problem at all," Holly reassured the secretary. "I really only just got here. Is Headmaster Michaelson ready for me?" _Is Dalton Academy ready for me? Am I ready for Dalton Academy? Is there any particular reason I'm suddenly second-guessing everything lately? Shut up, Holly._

"Yes, he's quite eager to meet you." Mrs. Waterstone was beaming as she ushered Holly to a door in the back of the anteroom. "Your recommendations were apparently very encouraging! We don't ask just anyone to fill in here, you know. We have to maintain a certain standard."

Holly nodded. She hoped that the enormous gulp of air she'd just taken wasn't terribly obvious. "Of course. I can understand that."

"Really, we have very little need for substitutes, normally. We're very fortunate to have an unusually able-bodied faculty! It's a terrible pity that Mr. Hancock got Ebola while spending his spring break in Africa." The chatty secretary didn't seem to notice when Holly's head swiveled sharply in a mother of a double-take. "Oh! And here's the Headmaster. Lovely to meet you, Miss Holliday!"

Holly slapped a smile on her face, shook the Headmaster's hand, and tried not to think about contagious tropical diseases. She had never felt so off-balance in her life; usually, she was the one causing people to look twice. This did not bode well for her resolve. _Would it actually be so bad to sling coffee at The Lima Bean for a few months? _she wondered. _Oh, God, of course it would. Shut __**up**__, Holly._

But seriously, a prep school couldn't even have faculty members succumb to _normal _diseases like the flu or shingles? Oh no, they had to go on vacation in _Africa_ and contract _Ebola _of all things.

On the other hand, the apparent propensity for elite academics to go vacationing in odd locales and come home with bizarre viruses did mean that she might have a place to work for the rest of the term, a place that did not involve overdosing on sugar and caffeine, so maybe she could just take her scoffing and shove it.

"Miss Holliday, a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dr. Samuel Michaelson, the Headmaster here at Dalton Academy for Boys." The Headmaster was a tall, burly man with an impressive snowy white head of hair. Cheerful blue eyes peered at her from behind bifocals and an equally impressive beard, and his handshake was firm. Holly liked him right away. "I'm very glad you were able to meet with us. I do hope I'm able to answer your questions and concerns about your possible time here." He smiled again. "We'd really like to have you on board for the remainder of the term."

"Well, I admit I'm very impressed with the grounds, Headmaster." Holly turned her charm way up and had to hide a smile as the man grew obviously flustered. "And all of the boys I've seen have seemed well-behaved and happy. I simply wanted to get a better feel for what would be required before I decided whether or not to join you."

"Perfectly understandable. Private schools are really a whole different ballgame, especially single gender private schools. I've been at Dalton for fifteen years," and here he visibly puffed up with pride. "It was quite a learning curve, but I wouldn't trade it for anything." He pulled a chair out for her. "Here, please have a seat."

"Thank you." She did so and smiled again, waiting for him to take his own seat behind his desk before opening up the conversation further. "I understand the position is for Geography teacher. What grade is that, here?"

"Freshman, Miss Holliday. You shouldn't have any problems, they're all too worried about passing to cause much trouble. Mr. Hancock set out a very detailed lesson plan and his final exam was mostly complete before the Ebola took hold. Though you might want to read over it and see about corrections…I understand he was revising it when fatigue and illness related dementia kicked in."

Holly kept a pleasantly calm façade over her alarm. "And…has anyone else been exposed to Ebola?"

This was seriously not shaping up to be your usual job interview.

"Yes, but we had the Center for Disease Control come in. Every boy and teacher has been examined. Clean bill of health! Apart from Mr. Hancock, of course."

"Of course." Her voice went a bit faint. "That's marvelous."

"Isn't it?" The Headmaster was practically beaming. "We pride ourselves on strong constitutions, here!"

_Clearly. _"And my schedule?"

"You'll have four classes a day, plus lunch and a study hour that you'll proctor," he replied promptly. "We don't do homerooms here, that's one less thing for you to worry about. You may take lunch in the teacher's lounge - we have a small cafeteria attached - or you may go off campus if you like. Not many options out in this neck of the woods, though, so I don't recommend that."

"Not a problem."

"We do ask that you take a turn as hall monitor once a week. The French teacher, Madame Ducharme, she organizes that. She'll speak with you about your rotation and which of the class halls you'll take it in."

"That sounds just fine." Nothing too out of order. Apart from the uniforms, the Old World décor, and slight Stepfordish air about the place, it was beginning to sound like any normal substitute teaching job. Holly was feeling a bit silly for driving all the way out here and putting the faculty through the trouble of helping her decide whether or not she'd deign to take it. What had come over her? She was utterly ridiculous and had been unforgivably judgmental.

"And we'd like to ask you to act as the faculty advisor for the Warblers."

She snapped out of her self-castigation. "Come again?" That hadn't been in the letter.

"The Warblers. They're our glee club. Our pride and joy!…well, usually." Michaelson's tone turned almost surly, but Holly missed it in her effort to play catch-up.

"Your glee club?" Of course, she'd heard of the Warblers, thanks to her work at McKinley. The public school glee club had beaten the prep school a cappella team at Regionals. That had ended the Warblers' competition season, hadn't it? "But isn't their - "

"Competition season over? Yes. But they got farther than they had in years, and that pleases the alumni. They'll be in demand for events." Michaelson peered at the substitute teacher over his bifocals. "Your resume indicated you had experience with filling in for music teachers."

"Of course, yes. I'm not very familiar with a cappella work, though."

"No worries. The boys have that well in hand. You won't have to worry about the music at all, actually."

"No?" Now she was even more confused. If she wasn't supposed to help with music, then what? Did he want a glorified babysitter? She frowned at the headmaster, who coughed and looked away.

"The Warblers have enjoyed quite a lot of autonomy for many years. They're accustomed to that. We encouraged it. And that was fine until this year. Then..." He trailed off, continuing to look resolutely anywhere but at Holly. She watched as he actually grabbed a stack of papers and _shuffled _them in his effort to avoid her gaze.

"Then _what_, Dr. Michaelson?"

"Then we had a transfer student. A Mr. Kurt Hummel."

"Kurt?" But she remembered Kurt well. He'd been nice, a little snarky, but generally nice. A little on the quiet side, even. _Killer _taste in footwear...and clothing...and accessories...and everything, really. "I taught him, once. He struck me as a good kid. Always did his homework and didn't give much lip. I can't imagine him causing trouble. Most days he seemed to go out of his way to avoid it."

"Oh, he was a good student - I use the past tense because he's returned to McKinley High recently - and overall he was very well behaved."

"But..." Holly raised an eyebrow. Michaelson coughed and returned to his paper shuffling.

"But...he was subversive. We are very _traditional _here at Dalton Academy." The Headmaster looked up again and squinted - she thought he might be trying to glare imperiously, and the effort made her work to stifle a giggle. He looked nothing so much as nearsighted. "Mr. Hummel saw fit to joke about our traditions, our preference for propriety and uniformity, and he encouraged the Warblers to rebel against our standards. To their credit, they fought his influence for a while."

"But..." Holly repeated, thinking that Kurt could not have had to do much to subvert a group of what were, after all, teenage boys. The adage "boys would be boys" hadn't exactly come from nowhere.

"But they succumbed. Began leaving campus for unauthorized performances in shopping malls, singing songs about 'panty snatching', bucking our tradition of having one lead singer a year, and talking out of turn in council. It was as if," and here Michaelson puffed up again, though now it was out of indignation rather than pride, "as if Robert's Rules of Order meant nothing to them anymore!"

"Oh, no, not that," Holly mumbled, finding it even more difficult to control the urge to laugh out loud.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, no, how bad," she hurriedly amended.

"Yes. Well." The headmaster was suspicious, but mollified. "At any rate, he's gone now, but the boys are just out of control. They threw a goodbye party for him that ended up with two students swinging from a chandelier!"

Impressive. "Literally?"

"Yes, Miss Holliday, quite literally."

"I see." She revised her opinion of the school for yet another time. First it was Stepford City, then it was almost normal, and now it sounded like Dalton could very nearly rival McKinley in the arena of wacky hijinks. It was a marvel that her head wasn't spinning from the whiplash. "Headmaster...with all due respect, I'm not sure what you want me to do here."

"You have a reputation for being able to coax bored students to actually pay attention in class. For being able to help them articulate their feelings when something's wrong. For honesty, forthrightness, and asking the right questions at the right time." He sighed. "We'd like you to help our boys regain their focus and drive. Turn them back into upstanding citizens instead of unruly hooligans."

She was not about to volunteer information on what else she had a reputation for doing, but oh _God, _upstanding citizens were _boring._ "I'm a substitute teacher, a stranger to these kids," she temporized. "And there's two months left in the school year. They have no reason to respect me or to listen to me. I'm a teacher, not a miracle worker."

"Your recommendations say otherwise." Michaelson tapped a stack of papers. "Particularly the one from McKinley."

Holly felt her eyebrow curving upward in an unmistakably sardonic manner. In her teaching wake was a stack of parental complaints two feet high due to her unconventional teaching methods, a classroom full of teenagers now terrified of the mythical HIV status of cucumbers, and she could even say she had aided in the dissolution of a marriage - all this just from McKinley alone.

She would give a very great deal to know exactly what _that_ recommendation said, and who had sent it. And then she would have a tough time deciding whether to hug them or strangle them.

If it was who she was fairly certain it was (it was undoubtedly who she thought it was), she would probably skip all the way to strangle. _Dammit, Will. Why do you have to be so __**nice**__? You give people too many chances._

"And the job - it's contingent on my also accepting the Advisory position?"

Dr. Michaelson's face was grave. "I'm afraid so, Miss Holliday. We're at the end of our ropes. That travesty of a party ended up with our current lead singer being asked to not return to the dorms next year, and I'm not at all sure I have the clout to get that decision overturned. We need help, and we need it now."

Holly groaned inwardly. She could not afford to pass this job up - but she was pretty sure she wasn't truly up to Dalton's standards. Yet thanks to Will Schuester's well-intentioned machinations, they clearly thought she was. In her (reluctant) efforts to reform the behavior of a merry band of mischief-makers, it was entirely possible that she might do more harm than good. That had become something of her trademark, if she looked too closely at it. Which admittedly, she wasn't really inclined to do.

She didn't believe in repressing creativity or high spirits - that's what she felt was being asked of her. She would have to find a way to rein the boys in without stifling their spirits. That right there was a job description that she personally felt might go above and beyond the duties of your average substitute teacher.

But Dalton Academy was obviously not your average school.

She'd wanted a challenge, hadn't she?

And not having to serve lattes and dodge steam burns from the cantankerous espresso machine at The Lima Bean, that had a particular appeal. One that didn't involve uninsured trips to the emergency room.

Rock. Hard place. She sighed.

"Miss Holliday?" The Headmaster looked concerned. "Do you think you can help us?"

She took a breath, smiled - and jumped.

"I thought you'd never ask."


	3. Kangaroo Court

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_Hello again! So this is where things slow down, because I had the first three chapters more or less written - they just needed to be fleshed out - and now I am down to bits and pieces. I need to stop and figure out where to go from here._

_Plus I want to be more careful. The first two chapters ended up with little things slipping through that I corrected, and if that sent out story alerts and caused false hope, I am sorry. I want to be a little more cautious before I send things up. I am a bit of a perfectionist and I hate to disappoint people._

_Especially people who are so nice! I still can't believe that there's other people besides me out there who think this can be hysterical. I don't even know what is wrong with us, but I am so glad to not be alone and I appreciate you like crazy. Thanks for the reviews and story alerts._

_So here we go! Remember, Glee is so not mine, there are spoilers through "Born This Way," I have all the sexuality of a baby penguin, and I aim generally for cleanish language most of the time (though sometimes things slip through)._

_**Chapter Two: Kangaroo Court**_

As it turned out, Madame Ducharme needed Holly to perform hall monitor duties on her first day of teaching. She waved off the French teacher's profuse apologies and made sure to get precise directions to her post in Peabody Hall - a walking tour of the enormous campus having been only somewhat helpful due to the fact that Holly (or rather, Holly's feet in the high heeled shoes she'd worn for the interview) begged off after an hour and a half.

That was how she'd come to find herself at the top of Peabody's spiral staircase fifteen minutes early, gazing down at a gleaming mahogany and checkered marble foyer. With the sun beaming down through the overhead skylight, she had to admit that it was very picturesque. But alien. She'd never been anywhere so polished, so serene, so redolent of grace and privilege.

The urge to pluck a single hair from her head and let it fall down to the first floor, just to interrupt the gleaming perfection, well, it was nigh unbearable. Her hand twitched on the banister as she fought it.

Fortunately, the morning bell signifying the start of class pealed out overhead, and in moments the hallway was awash in a sea of uniformed boys. Silence gave way to yelping, chattering chaos as they compared notes, exchanged papers, pushed and shoved and laughed uproariously. _That's more like it,_ Holly thought, a small smile crossing her face as she observed the rambunction.

It was almost, for just a second or two here and there, like being back at McKinley. But instead of hundreds of black, white and red skirted cheerleaders (she had wondered more than once if there were only five or six girls who weren't Cheerios) interspersed with the occasional kid in street clothes, it was an unbroken, undulating wave of blue and red blazers. No high, bouncy ponytails interrupted the short crops and buzz cuts. She could pick out the scents of Dior Pour Homme, Armani, Givenchy Gentleman – not a single note of rose or jasmine or any soft, feminine florals at all apart from her own.

Things kept swinging from strange to familiar and back to strange again. It bothered Holly that she, usually so self-assured and in control, kept finding herself pushed just that slight bit off-balance. She wrapped her fingers around a nearby finial and swept her hand over it in a repetitive polishing motion. The mindless activity allowed her to space out for a moment as the hall bustled and jostled around her. She'd have to go to her first class momentarily, but for just a little bit, she very much needed to collect herself.

So she didn't notice a small cluster of boys who were staring up at her with expressions that were a little more contemplative than their fellow students, who had merely passed her with curious glances on their way to their classes. If she had been paying attention, she'd have recognized the one who was most obviously puzzled by her presence, whose heavy eyebrows were almost knitted together in confusion as he explained who she was to his friends.

"She is definitely a substitute teacher – she's here filling in for Hancock until he feels up to coming back," Blaine reported. "But it's weird. Last I heard, _this _particular sub was in Cleveland teaching French till the end of the year."

"How would you even know that, man?" David was incredulous. "Are you like, so torn up by Kurt leaving that you're throwing yourself into detective work? I think you're taking the Conan Doyle module in English Lit too seriously, Anderson."

To his credit, David didn't buckle under the onslaught of withering glares from the other Warblers, merely stepped back and rolled his eyes.

Rolling his eyes in return, Blaine replied, "No, you enormous _nerd_. She taught at McKinley, remember? I met her at that benefit concert I went to with Kurt. Her name is..." He mentally rummaged around for a moment. "Holly. Holly Holliday."

Jeff looked surprised. "What kind of name is that? Is she a porn star? Ow!" He glared at Flint, who had just knucklepunched him smack in the arm. Flint glared right back.

"She's currently the prime grist in the gossip mill there because she broke their Glee Club director's heart when she took off," Blaine went on, ignoring the kerfuffle. "Now Kurt says he's forcing New Directions to 'examine their bleaker emotions' through singing the most depressing songs they can find, and she is...I guess...here. Being not in Cleveland."

The boys all nodded. "So you still hear from Kurt?" Thad asked, zeroing in on the mention of their former comrade.

"'Course I do. He's in Lima, not Siberia." Though he might as well have been for all that they saw each other, Blaine thought, feeling rather surly about it. "I mean, we didn't break up. He just moved. That's all. You all know that."

"Well, for once that could come in handy," Wes mused. "He can keep us posted about her. She looks interesting."

"You mean she looks tall and blonde," retorted David.

"I said no such thing, David. I said interesting. Perhaps you need to visit Nurse Givens for a hearing exam."

"Please. I'm not Anderson. I'm actually good with noticing and interpreting unspoken subtext."

"Hey!"

"Blaine, if the shoe fits..." David grinned.

"Hey, guys, whatcha doin'?"

If there was a more hilarious sight than that of a half-dozen uniformed teenage boys leaping and shrieking in shock before simultaneously composing themselves, Holly did _not _want to hear about it. When she awoke from her meditative moment, she had found it remarkably easy to sneak up on them, as absorbed as they were in discussing her and harassing the one boy she sort of knew.

Blaine regained the power of speech first, as he was wont to do, and extended his right hand in greeting. "Miss Holliday. It's a pleasure to meet you again."

"Likewise...Blaine, right?" She smiled as she shook his hand. "It's nice to see a familiar face in a new school. Even if that familiar face is busy talking about me behind my back." She bit back a snicker at the immediate blush that spread blotchily up the boy's face.

"I'm...sorry, Miss Holliday. Really. I didn't mean to be imprudent."

"No worries. I've heard worse about me from Tom Wolfe. Talk about a gossipy yenta!" Her eyes did a full lateral 360, so hard she thought she might have sprained something this time. "Anyway! Change of subject! I'm supposed to send you off to class, but why don't you introduce yourselves. Very quickly."

All of the boys but Blaine fell over each other in their haste to shove their hands at Holly to be shaken. "Wes Fletcher," beamed the senior Warbler, having beaten a now glaring David to the pretty blonde. "A genuine pleasure to meet you." He got nothing more out as the other boys jostled forward again, all of them ignoring Blaine's exasperated calls for civilized behavior. Holly laughed and shook each hand in turn, ending up stepping back breathlessly and feeling much better than she had just a few moments before. Flustered boys were something with which she knew how to cope.

"It is fantastic meeting all of you. But I really do have to do my job and get you on your ways. The second bell should ring..." She glanced at her wristwatch. "Any moment now. I will see all of you this afternoon, though!"

The boys all looked at each other in confusion. Again, it was Blaine who spoke up first. "This afternoon? Miss Holliday, none of us are freshmen. If you're filling in for Mr. Hancock, we won't be in any of your classes. Geography is a freshman level course."

Holly beamed at him. "I know that. But you have Warblers rehearsal this afternoon, don't you? You're all wearing the pin, I assume you're all in the group. That's where I'll be seeing you." She gestured to a small round brooch that had blended so closely to the color of her top, they hadn't seen it until she called attention to it.

A tiny cloisonne shield inlaid with the image of a songbird.

"I'm your new faculty Advisor!"

* * *

><p>Later that afternoon, The Warblers' rehearsal hall was in a complete uproar. The Council was seated behind their usual table, Wes slamming his gavel and shouting uselessly for order. The fourteen other Warblers were all gathered on one side of the room, yelling and talking over each other at the other end of the room, where their Headmaster and unwanted faculty Advisor stood. All except for Blaine, who slumped into a couch and occasionally sent surreptitious cell phone video of the proceedings to his boyfriend.<p>

Kurt was, predictably enough, finding the whole thing to be hilarious.

"This is utterly preposterous! A complete travesty!" Trent's debate-team honed tone of righteous outrage carried easily over the protests of his choirmates. And while normally the other boys dismissed his puffed-up hyperbole with hidden smiles, today they were all just as indignant as he. Even easygoing Nick and Jeff were up in arms over the blindsiding they'd all received.

"In over 100 years, the Warblers have never had an advisor," Jeff protested. "They were founded as an independent extracurricular group. It's written in the bylaws!" At everyone's incredulous stares - that had been more of the sort of outburst they expected from Trent or Wes - he ducked his head and mumbled, "I had to do a paper for English class on a Dalton tradition."

"Be that as it may," Headmaster Michaelson interjected sternly, "It is written in the Dalton Academy bylaws that the Headmaster may appoint a faculty adviser to any independent extracurricular group in the event of an emergency, thus superseding the group's individual bylaws. Which you would have known, Mr. Pauling, had you expanded your research to beyond the confines of your chosen subject."

Jeff ducked his head further to hide his red face.

"While this is all true, Headmaster, we don't understand what, to you, constituted an emergency." Wes was struggling to maintain equanimity, even if he was as annoyed as his fellow choir members. "We didn't think that losing at Regionals fit that bill."

The Headmaster was making no attempt to hide his astonishment. "You don't see - Mr. Fletcher, since the first day that Oliver Twist of a transfer student, Mr. Hummel, arrived at this school, The Warblers have descended into a maelstrom of impudence and subversiveness unseen in the history of Dalton Academy! Culminating, I remind you, in a spectacular party that resulted in the destruction of an antique chandelier, detention for two weeks for the entire group, and Mr. Anderson's expulsion from the dorms! If that does not constitute an emergency, I don't know what does!"

Blaine had looked up at the mention of his name, only to cover his face with his hand and groan as all of the Warblers swung to stare at him. He'd told Kurt, but he hadn't yet decided when to explain to his schoolmates about the dorm issue - though he noted with detached surprise that clearly, Nick had considerately refrained from babbling it to anyone. Including, if the look on Jeff's face was indicative, his best friend. Huh. _Well done, Nick, you get a cookie, _Blaine thought.

"That's completely unfair," Trent sputtered. "It wasn't Blaine's fault at all."

"The Board feels differently. Your Council makes the performance decisions, but as far as the public is concerned, he is your leader. When people think of the Warblers, they think of Mr. Anderson first. Next year, I gather he is a shoo-in for Council leader. And so the Board thinks that as the de facto spokesman, he should have had a greater hand in keeping the lot of you adherent to the Academy's traditions and standards of behavior."

"That is complete B.S," Nick blurted out. Blaine was in wholehearted agreement with that assessment. Mostly because it had been Nick and Jeff caught swinging from the chandelier. But also because logic hadn't seemed to play much of a role in the Board's decision, and that was just stupid.

"But...sir. Blaine has to live in the dorms. He's not from Westerville," David was having trouble refraining from stammering. "If he's expelled from the dorms, he has to leave Dalton. He has to go back...home." As hard as it had been letting go of Kurt, they doubly did not want to send Blaine back to the hell of his prior high school. At least McKinley had put some kind of anti-bullying policies in place. They'd heard no such thing from Toledo.

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Hardwick. It was not my decision." Michaelson's face was grave, his tone heavy. "And I understand that that impacts your potential for next year's competition."

The boys all looked at each other incredulously, and Blaine's phone buzzed with an indignant text message from Kurt (_"How clueless is he?")_. The Headmaster couldn't have said anything more telling, not one thing that showed he didn't understand them at all. They'd throw Sectionals _and _Regionals in a heartbeat if that was the price they had to pay to keep their friend and lead singer _safe. _Michaelson just didn't know.

(Message from Kurt: _"And I cannot even believe he actually called me Oliver Twist. Did he mean Fagin?"_)

Soberly, Michaelson continued with his speech. "Now, I can't overturn the Board's decision – Dalton is, after all, something of a democracy. The good news is, because of his exemplary record and his work in leading the Warblers to their best Regionals finish in years, they're willing to allow Mr. Anderson to appeal it. There's a meeting in a month and a half, and I know that he can acquit himself _very_ well." He smiled broadly at the star tenor, who could only muster a weak and slightly crazed half-smile in return. "But I want to ensure his total success, and _that_ means making sure not a single one of you place a single toe out of line for the rest of this year. My insurance includes Miss Holliday's presence as your advisor. This is not up for debate, and it starts now. Miss Holliday," he turned to the substitute with an apologetic smile on his face. "I must return to my office. I'm sorry to leave you with this mess."

With that, he turned on his heel and exited the hall, leaving Holly to face sixteen furious, troublemaking teenage boys and one visibly overwhelmed one. The angry ones erupted as soon as the Headmaster had departed, shouting at Holly, at Blaine, and at each other in an increasing cacophony that was giving the teacher a serious headache.

Abruptly, she stood up and strode to the center of the room, even the clacking of her slingback heels drowned out by the argument. The boys had numbers on their side – but she had the advantage of being faculty (however temporarily) and of possessing an ability to whistle that had never, not once ever, failed to hail her a cab in Manhattan at 5 PM on a Friday.

Sticking two fingers between her lips, she let fly with a kettle-like whistle so piercing that Jeff would swear for days afterward that his ears had _actually _bled.

"**ZIP. IT!**"

Silence descended like nuclear fallout. The Warblers wore various expressions of astonishment (Blaine), indignance (Trent, Thad and David), anger (most of the rest of them) and pure besottedness (Wes, Nick and Jeff). Holly kept her face somewhere between droll and annoyed.

"Wow," she commented into the deafening silence. "You? Are all insane. And may I say that it's actually sort of refreshing?" Her head tilted to the side, her smile broad and her eyes twinkling. Suddenly she felt very much in her element. "I mean, Truman Capote was my mother's uncle's fifth cousin twice removed and my godfather, so I _know_ from insane."

The boys all looked at each other, not sure what to say. So she continued on. "Believe me when I tell you that I get why you're mad. As a gal who is not only accustomed to but insists upon autonomy, I feel your pain. So I think it's going to come as something of a relief to you that I am not about to hover over you and insist you behave like soulless automatons. Let's leave that to Carmel, because oh my God. _Boring._"

"What will you be doing, then?" David voiced the question that they all wanted to ask. "You're supposed to be 'keeping us in line,' after all." His tone was bitter, revealing his anguish over the implication that they needed a babysitter and over the predicament of his friend.

"Your problem," Holly pointed out to them as she slid up to sit on an empty desk, "is that you lack subtlety. You all think that bucking tradition has to be this enormous, explosive gesture. No wonder the Headmaster thinks poor Kurt Hummel was some kind of misfit ringleader. He was just a catalyst." She shook her head at them in admonishment.

Over on his couch, Blaine was nodding in agreement, feeling alive and clearheaded for the first time in several hours. "It's true. Wait, guys, don't - " he held his hands up to stave off his teammates' angry buzzing. " - I can say this because I'm the only one of us here who's been on both sides, public and private school. You've all been in private school since you were little. You don't know."

"Know what?" Thad growled from his seat at the Council table.

"That you're all insane – which is to say, you're all being perfectly normal teenage boys for the first time in your lives," Holly advised them blandly, and Blaine nodded again.

"Exactly. They think you're rebelling. You're not. You're just...learning how to be yourselves, that's all."

"With all the subtlety of a lead balloon, including yourself, Mr. Anderson - or was it someone else that I was told sang about keeping toys in a drawer?" Holly grinned as Blaine buried his red face in his palms. "That sort of theatricality, I can concede, could have been at least partly Kurt's influence. You wouldn't know any better in the first place, and then someone with a bit of a flair for drama comes along..."

"Hey," Blaine lifted his head, objecting to the slur on his boyfriend's name. "To be completely fair, it took months for him to settle in and open up to us."

"But then everything happened at once, from what I gather?" Holly cocked an eyebrow at the choir. "I'm not saying it was actually his fault. Just that you were all primed and waiting to be set off."

(Message from Kurt: _"Does she know that the Warblers Gap Attack was actually __**your **__idea? I refuse to accept either credit or blame for that hot mess.")_

"In any case," continued the Advisor, "guys, this really has to stop."

"You said you weren't going to be hovering over us!" Trent was outraged all over again, and would have gone on had Holly not rolled her eyes and hopped down off of her perch, ambling over to the side of the room where they were all congregated.

"I'm _not._ Has anyone ever recommended Prozac to you, kid? Jeez." She shook her head. "What has to stop is the 'OH EM GEE LET'S FIGHT THE MAN SO WE CAN BE INDIVIDUALS' schtick. I'm not saying I'm going to help you plan the best way to destroy more antiques. What I will do is let you know when you might be going over the top."

Jeff was skeptical. "Who says we're going to tell you anything we're planning?"

"Easy. You do anything at all out of line, and Blaine's guaranteed to be gone, plus I'll get fired. I don't think any of you want to see the first thing happen, and you're too well brought up to be comfortable with causing the second. As for me, I'm seriously not into running herd over a bunch of sulky teenage boys for two months." She shrugged. "So your choices are to behave like Stepford Children until the end of term, which, _dull_ - or you can let me be your guide on the path to covert subversion whenever you have the urge to act out."

Looks were exchanged between the teammates. "The second choice seems fair," Wes admitted.

"Good." The substitute tossed her hair back and smiled brilliantly. "Then I believe, boys, that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

As his fellow Warblers smiled and nodded around him, Blaine looked between them and the substitute teacher. He suddenly wasn't sure whether to be cheered...or completely terrified.

(Message from Kurt: _"Go with cheerful terror."_)


	4. And I Am Trying Not To Break

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_So...this wasn't supposed to happen. X_x But it turns out fictional teenage boys are as difficult to wrangle as real ones (and I have a PACK of younger brothers, so I can speak from experience). I was trying to get into some kind of slapsticky headspace and a certain dapper tenor was not disposed to cooperate. Being a__ big Jasper Fforde fan, you'd think it wouldn't come as a surprise to me when fictional characters begin to take on a life of their own, and yet..._

_Fine. I bargained that Emo!Blaine could have one chapter in which to wallow, but then I'd be getting back to where this story was supposed to be heading. This one's a little short. But hey! Surprise Klaine! Or more properly, Klaine-angst. Klainegst? _

_Usual warnings apply: there's a little bit of language here this time, and some ever so faintly saucy boy-on-boy flirting (I am as shocked as you are, I didn't think I even had that much in me). Spoilers through "Born This Way" (I haven't seen "Rumors" yet!) and Glee? Sadly, regrettably, depressingly not mine, and I spend way too much of my disposable income buying the show tracks from iTunes anyway!_

_**Chapter Three: And I Am Trying Not To Break**_

"...I don't quite know how I feel about being thought of as some sort of Guru of Mayhem," Kurt complained. "I mean, on the one hand, there's a lot to be said for infamy. And yet I preferred that my Dalton legacy be one of fabulous shoes, excellent grades, and, of course, a killer singing voice."

Blaine shifted his phone from one ear to the other and stretched his newly freed arm up over his head, drumming his knuckles against the wall above his bed. "Two out of three's not bad. Voice could use some work." He smiled at Kurt's incoherent squawk of affront. "No, for real, I know. If it helps, _we_ all know that it's a complete crock."

"Mm. It does go a long way. And frankly, my unjust persecution only means that whatever I do in the future, I have to make it big enough that people overlook the opinion of a few silly adults at some Ohio private school. That fits in with my plans nicely." The feathery sound of fingernails being buffed whispered down the phone line. "So how's Miss Holliday working out for you guys?"

"Well, she had an exciting first rehearsal. You saw."

"True. What did the guys think of you videoing that?"

"The guys don't know, and if you value my life, you won't say a word to them," Blaine chuckled. "That was all pretty crazy, though. I thought Trent was going to explode."

"You all think that every time he gets wound up about something."

"Like it didn't cross your mind a time or two."

Kurt laughed, softly. "No denial here." He hummed a bit under his breath before continuing. "Part of me is tempted to let it slip to Mr. Schue that Miss Holliday's not in Cleveland anymore. I'd do it if I thought for one second it would get him to stop scouring the internet for the most tragic hair rock songs he could find."

"Poor baby. What's the matter, you already tired of 'When I See You Smile'?"

A melodramatic sigh. "They went out on maybe five dates, if what Mercedes and Tina say is true. How can anyone get so disgustingly emo over that? It's honestly worse than Rachel's pining over Finn, and at least those two have some history."

"Don't look to me for answers. I'm the one who thought serenading an assistant manager at a retail store was a _good_ idea." They both laughed.

"You made up for it later." Kurt's voice was low and warm; Blaine could hear the smile in it, and it called up an answering smile from him. It felt good to smile, it seemed like it had been years since he properly had.

"I'll keep making up for it, too. I promise."

"I look forward to it."

They lapsed into a companionable silence, as they so often did. Blaine liked the silence almost as much as he liked listening to Kurt's melodic voice. Some days he liked it more, liked that they didn't have to fill up every minute with chatter. Something about that was comforting.

He heard Kurt going through his evening routine, each sound as familiar as his own heartbeat. He used to watch this, even when they were just friends he used to lay back on Kurt's dorm room bed while the other boy sat at his desk and they'd talk as he buffed and moisturized and brushed. As suddenly as Blaine had smiled earlier, now a pang of sadness twisted sharply through his chest.

"Blaine?" Kurt's voice was apprehensive. He wondered why.

"Yeah?"

"You just...you sighed. Again. Not that I'm keeping count or anything, but it's about the fifth or...tenth...time tonight."

_Damn._ He hadn't noticed. "Tired, that's all. Mrs. Waterstone had a pile of records for me to file today after detention and rehearsal. Then there was the call from my parents about _The Letter._"

"Ouch. They got a copy too, I suppose?"

"You suppose correctly." Blaine winced at the memory of the call. His father had been coldly cordial and firm and oh-so-disappointed-in-you-Blaine that it hurt to remember. "They're thrilled, of course – and I mean that in the most sarcastic way possible."

"I'm sorry it happened, Blaine."

"I'm not. I'm just sorry we all got caught. I don't regret giving you a proper send-off at all." The words were out before he could stop them, and he mentally kicked himself. Actually mentioning Kurt's departure from Dalton always seemed to worry the younger boy.

"I don't know..." Now Kurt sounded uncertain, and Blaine knew what he'd say next, braced himself for the words and hoped in vain that they'd be different this time. "Blaine. I did the right thing. Didn't I?"

_Double damn. _Every other phone conversation ended up here despite his best efforts, the sadness coming out of nowhere to tint even the brightest speech with grey overtones. Kurt was so acutely sensitive to mood shifts that Blaine had vowed to never, ever make even the slightest noise that hinted at his depression over his boyfriend's transfer.

But every other night, he failed. "Of course you did. You know you did." He reached a hand up under his t-shirt and scratched absently at a prickly itch. "Kurt, there's no question that you did what was best for you."

"Sometimes I feel like I was incredibly selfish. That I hardly considered you when I decided to return to McKinley. It's like the fallout from the party is the Universe saying my decision was a mistake." As if sensing Blaine revving up for a rebuttal, Kurt's words rushed out faster. "If I'd never made that decision, we'd never have had the party, and you wouldn't be facing being forced to leave Dalton. You shouldn't _have_ to leave Dalton. You love it there."

"Kurt, this is a ridiculous conversation," Blaine replied firmly, anxious to put it back on less perilous ground as quickly as he could. "If it wasn't one thing, maybe it would have been another. Yes, I'll admit I miss you. And no, I don't really want to leave Dalton." _I think. I miss you. _"But Dalton was never home, not for you." He groped for more words. "We both knew you'd go back to where you belonged. I'm just lucky that you knocked sense into me before you did."

A soft chuckle wafted down the line. "As if I had any idea what was going on when you finally had your epiphany. You make it sound like I premeditated poor Pavarotti's death in some Machiavellian scheme to seduce you."

"I'm going to be _so _disappointed if you tell me it wasn't."

"I am shocked, Blaine Anderson. Shocked and flattered that you give me that much credit." The warmth of a smile had returned to Kurt's voice, causing Blaine to suppress a sigh of relief. If it killed him, he was going to keep Kurt from regretting his decision. He'd been through so much, he didn't need a clingy, whiny boyfriend snuffling down the phone lines at him, making him question himself.

For that matter, he was sort of not enjoying _being_ a clingy, whiny boyfriend. Even if Kurt didn't realize he was being one, _he_ knew, and it drove him completely up a wall.

"Don't sell yourself short," he snorted, still working to ensure that the conversation was safely turned away from his mopey attitude. "You could melt the heart of...of...a snowman."

"Oh, thank you, Prince Charming. Thanks ever so much."

"Hey, you're the one who said you had all of the sexuality of a baby penguin."

"And you're the one who thinks I'm cute," Kurt retorted. "So I guess that's working out for me, isn't it?"

"I concede," Blaine laughed, feeling more on solid footing. He drummed on the wall again for a moment before he noticed the odd, tinkly music burbling on Kurt's end of the phone. It - or some variation on it - had been playing for the last thirty minutes.

"Are you in your room?"

"No." Shuffling noises as Kurt brushed his hair. "I'm in the living room."

"Watching cartoons?" He was puzzled; Kurt wasn't really the cartoon type.

"Not exactly. I'm experimenting on Finn," replied the other boy airily.

"Explain."

"I find it completely hysterical that whenever Finn enters the room and realizes that I'm watching 'Veggie Tales,' he goes through a full-body shudder and hustles out as fast as he can go. He refuses to tell me why, so I'm trying to see how long it'll take before he breaks down."

As if on cue, Blaine heard a commotion on the other side that had to have been Kurt's stepbrother barrelling into and then immediately back out of the living room via the swinging doors of the Hummel-Hudson kitchen. "Kurt! That's seriously freakin' not cool! Turn it off! Ow!"

"You're going to have to tell me sometime!" Kurt called out, completely unrepentant. "Go put an ice pack on your nose before it swells!"

Blaine couldn't stop laughing. "I feel like you're taking entirely too well to the role of little brother who torments his older sibling mercilessly."

"Just making up for lost time and more slushie facials than I care for you to know about," Kurt replied. "I really should let him off the hook for the night, though. Plus I have to study for a French exam."

"You always get A's in French." He wasn't ready for the phone conversation to end and had to work to keep the desperate note out of his voice. _Don't worry him, don't worry him, don't worry him..._

"Because I study." Kurt's tone was teasingly snippy, but then he dropped it. "I know. I don't want to get off the phone either."

"Then don't." Ugh, that pleading whine. _Will I ever stop screwing up?_

"Blaine..."

"I know." He took a deep breath and forced a smile. "I'm just being silly. Like I said earlier, I'm tired, it's been a crazy week. Don't worry about me. You're going to kick ass on your exam, just like you always do."

"I can tell when you're deflecting, you know," Kurt sounded slightly annoyed now. "One day, Blaine Anderson, I'm going to get you to drop those walls for good. I know you're not as stoic as you like to think." A chuckle escaped. "I know there's a soft, marshmallowy center behind that king of the world exterior."

"Bite your tongue."

"Bite it for me," Kurt taunted. "When you come down this weekend."

"Kurt Hummel, is that a challenge?" Despite the return of his blue mood, Blaine felt a smile creep over his face. Since his decision to reclaim his rightful place at McKinley, Kurt's self-assurance had grown by leaps and bounds. It lent an amusing new dimension to their relationship.

"Can it be considered a challenge when I've completely stopped playing hard to get?" Kurt mused. "Never mind. Don't answer that. I honestly have to go, though, I can hear Finn coming again and I'm terrified if I keep this up, he'll run out into traffic and Carole will never forgive me." He dropped his voice to a gentle caressing whisper. "I do miss you. I really do."

"I miss you too."

"Still not saying goodbye to you."

"I know."

Blaine skimmed his thumb over the "End Call" button and dropped the phone onto his bed. Stretching his arms overhead, he lay quietly, absorbing the silence of the room. Nick and Jeff had managed to coax a pair of pretty sophomores from Crawford into going out with them – God only knew how - so he had the place to himself for a few more hours.

He was tired from keeping up the pretense that everything was really going to be okay, and he was tired from talking to his iceberg of a father, and he _missed Kurt,_ dammit, it was stupid because it had only been a few days, but there it was, exacerbated beyond reason due to the stress of everything else.

_This,_ he thought bitterly, _sucks._

He would have been fine being alone at any time before he met Kurt. Yet he couldn't bring himself to wish to go back to that time. What was harder, being alone and not caring about it, or having a reason to care about whether or not you were alone?

Pushing up to a sitting position, Blaine swung his feet over the side of his bed and stood up, padding over to the electronic keyboard in the corner of the dimly lit dorm room. Music had always been his refuge, his port in any storm, the shelter he ran to when the bombs were raining down. He dropped heavily into the chair there, simultaneously flipping the power switch to "on."

And sat, just sat there for a couple of minutes with his head bowed, feeling like he'd never be able to lift it again. He was so tired, so sad.

Slowly, with infinite care, he raised his fingers and let them hang over the keys for a fleeting moment before beginning to pick out the first melancholy melody that came to mind. After a measure or two, he began to sing.

_Just a voice inside your head  
>Whispering all the hope is dead<br>All the times you had to prove  
>That no one really loves you<em>

His voice was shaky at first, the sadness clutching up in his throat and stealing his breath.

_I found you in a reflection_  
><em>You didn't want me to see<em>  
><em>I will give you all I have<em>  
><em>Just look up, break down and believe<em>

But he pushed on. He worked to drown himself in the song, even if it was hitting much, much too closely to his heart for comfort.

_This is a glass parade_  
><em>A fragile state<em>  
><em>And I am trying not to break<em>  
><em>And the stars are shining<em>  
><em>The moon is right<em>  
><em>And I would kill to be with you tonight<em>

The muscles of his back and shoulders, tensed for the last several days, began to relax and smooth out as he sang. It felt like a burden was lifting a little at a time. He knew it would come back, but he'd take even a momentary reprieve.

_Wish you told me all the truth_  
><em>So afraid to face an absolute<em>  
><em>All the fights you had to lose<em>  
><em>All the fear was put upon you<em>

_I found you when you were broken_  
><em>Too many cracks of deceit<em>  
><em>I will give you all I have<em>  
><em>Just look up, break down and believe<em>

He remembered the first day he saw Kurt, on the same spiral staircase he'd seen Miss Holliday on this morning. Remembered the uncertainty and shyness behind that façade of bravado. Kurt was one to talk about walls and defenses – but then, he could. He'd shed most of his, hadn't he? Not like Blaine. Blaine, who could only fully admit his feelings through song.

_This is a glass parade_  
><em>A fragile state<em>  
><em>And I am trying not to break<em>  
><em>And the stars are shining<em>  
><em>The moon is right<em>  
><em>And I would kill to be with you tonight<em>

He hit the bridge and threw his head back to belt it out, completely lost in memories and pouring out his sadness. By now, at the late hour, other Newport boys would usually be pounding his door down to silence him so they could sleep or study. But by some miracle the dormitory was mostly empty tonight, and the boys that were left were in tacit agreement to let their friend cope in whatever way he needed.

_This is the feeling, falling_  
><em>So much I want to say<em>  
><em>Show me the same emotion<em>  
><em>Show me what's at stake<em>  
><em>And how much can you take<em>  
><em>When you realize your fate?<em>

_Oh oh oh oh ohhhh_

_Oh oh oh_

_Oh oh oh whoa..._

_Hold me now as the car lights fade_  
><em>And we are dancing in the glass parade<em>  
><em>Dancing in the glass parade<em>  
><em>We are dancing in the glass parade<em>

_It's just a voice inside your head..._

The last notes faded into the night and his fingers slipped off of the keys, into his lap, his head bowing once more. A sigh that felt as if it started at his toes and ripped its way through him escaped in a painful exhalation. He just wished things were simpler.

He was so tired.

_**Author's Note: **The song...this song was never supposed to be in the story. Yes, it's where I got my username. It's one of my very favorite songs - "The Glass Parade," by Cary Brothers. It is a perfectly heartbreaking piece of music, beautiful and haunting and just...it's brilliant. It's also, I think, not really in Darren Criss' vocal wheelhouse...but Blaine wanted to sing it and so in the interests of indulgence (so I can move on), that's what he gets to sing._


	5. Conversations in D Minus

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_Wow. Did I ever struggle with this one. The story is veering away from what I'd had in mind. Kind of. It seems to be getting where I want it to go, just not the way I wanted it to get there. Quite. _

_I'd expected more mayhem, actually. Not sure if I need to be sad or relieved that there's not...or worried it'll blow up later!_

_Here we are, at any rate, and I have even gotten a headstart on the next chapter, though I won't promise it'll be up any sooner. I'll try, though!_

_Thank you again for the story alerts and reviews. I never expected to get any attention for what is frankly a severely unlikely story. I just wanted it out of my head. Feedback and love will help me to see it through, so thank you, thank you, thank you...my fellow would-be asylum dwellers._

_(you all know we're crazy, right? right?)_

_**Chapter Four: Conversations In D-Minus**_

The first week of the new dynamic bordered on dull. Still reeling from the Headmaster's edict, the Warblers toed the line as stringently as if they had never misbehaved for one moment in their lives. Meetings were run in the wood-paneled music room in Dunstable Hall, following strict adherence to Robert's Rules of Order. There was not one single instance of anyone jumping on the leather couches – though to be fair, Blaine had usually been the one to start that nonsense, and he wasn't really in a mood for it at the moment.

Holly occupied herself during rehearsal with grading papers and stifling yawns at the boringly appropriate songs the boys had chosen for an upcoming alumni fundraiser. She didn't care how charming the arrangement, nor how old the alumni, surely _no one_ actually liked 'Girl From Ipanema,' did they? But she wasn't about to interfere. They hadn't asked her to.

Really, though, the urge to say something was getting to her.

And every night, Blaine returned to his room, obediently did his homework, telephoned Kurt, then spent three hours playing the piano - though after the first two nights, Nick prevailed upon him to plug in his studio-grade headphones so that the other boys in the dorm would stop complaining about the distraction.

There was no flaw in his schoolwork. He was always on time for class. His appearance was as tidy as ever. He appeared to be perfectly normal...if you overlooked the dark circles beginning to bloom under his eyes, the lack of interacting with other people, and the fact that he seemed to think that food was for picking at.

Nick did not overlook these things. Nick watched his roommate, and Nick worried about his roommate, and at the end of the week, he took action.

Most of the Warblers gathered in their hall on a sunny Monday afternoon, milling about and chattering back and forth until Wes raised his gavel and rapped it firmly on the Council Table. "This emergency meeting of the Dalton Academy Warblers will now come to order." He glared sternly at his fellow singers until they went quiet. "This isn't a true meeting, so we'll dispense with formal address and Parliamentary Procedure."

"Yet you're still using the gavel," Trent pointed out.

Wes' grip tightened on the polished wood. "I will always use the gavel, Davies."

"Um, hold up dudes, Blaine's not here yet," Flint interjected.

David spoke up. "Blaine isn't going to be here. Not yet. Thad sent him off to finally copy all that sheet music we've been meaning to have in the rehearsal hall library. We have about forty-five minutes."

"And before anyone asks, Miss Holliday is grading pop quizzes and we might have fibbed about today's start time by telling her we'd been given one more day of detention for insolence," Thad added. "It was a little insulting how quickly she bought that." But no one heard his last sentence - the boys all reacted by either gasping or beginning to talk, the noise quickly filling the room and leading Wes to deploy his gavel again.

"We're not supposed to be getting into trouble, Thad, and here you are lying to both our lead singer and our Advisor!" Trent had leaped up and was prepared to launch into full-on Toastmasters' mode when Flint got to his own feet and exasperatedly elbowed him in the side.

"Shut it, Trent." Flint turned his attention worriedly to the Council. "Blaine's not stupid, you all know that. He probably knows full well that you sent him on some ridiculous errand so that you can discuss him."

"Oh, count on it," Wes snapped. "But we all know how the game is played. We pretend we need Blaine to do something to get him out from underfoot, Blaine pretends he doesn't know we want to talk about him behind his back, and everyone is, if not happy, at least aware of how things stand. A fine Dalton tradition. Been around for decades."

Jeff sat up straight on the couch he and Nick shared, a suspicious frown crossing his face. "Wait. Did you pull this crap with me that one time you sent me to look in the archives for a non-existent copy of the Lucky Lindy lyrics?"

Silence, punctuated with the occasional cough. No one would look directly at Jeff, not even Nick.

"You all _suck_. I was in there for two hours and had an asthma attack from all the dust." The sophomore fell back into his seat, clearly sulking. Nick tried to pat his shoulder reassuringly, only to have his best friend harrumph and turn his back on him. Fine, he guessed he sort of deserved that.

"Well, Jeff, we didn't know that was going to happen! And we needed to discuss your genuinely alarming obsession with Justin Bieber...that's beside the point," David wrapped up hastily. "The point is Blaine."

Silence fell once more. Nick was the first to speak up. "Does this have anything to do with what I told you guys earlier?"

"It has everything to do with that, Nick." Thad was shaking his head. "We're clearly reaching critical mass, from what you told us."

"Anytime anyone wants to explain exactly what's going on here, it'd be much appreciated." Trent's voice was tight, and the words emerged through gritted teeth. "Critical mass on _what_?"

"Blaine's...moping. It's out of hand." Wes twirled the stem of his gavel between his fingers. "We're a little worried that the last talk we had with him was pretty much him paying lip service to the Warblers."

"No," David corrected. "_You_ think it's lip service. Thad and I think he meant what he said - _then_."

"Fine, whatever." Wes rolled his eyes. "Basically, Blaine's taking Hummel's departure way harder than anyone anticipated. You all know he told us he was committed to staying at Dalton." He looked around the room at the others, who were nodding collectively. "Observing him over the last week, he's…it's not good, guys."

"Worse than when Thad's ex-girlfriend dumped him after her prom last year and he played all that Dashboard Confessional for six months straight?" Jeff wondered aloud.

"Can it, Pauling." Thad glared.

"I don't have anything else to compare it to!"

"Jeff…" Nick sighed. "You're my bro, but this is serious."

"Hey, my rela -"

"Nick, can you tell the guys what you told us?" David's face was grave as he cut off Thad before he could wind up into an indignant but at this time irrelevant defense of his post-breakup behavior.

"Yeah. Okay." The dark haired boy got up awkwardly, tugging at his lapels as he searched for words. "He's just…he's sad, you guys. It's like when he first got here and he was so walled up. Remember how we couldn't really get him to talk? It's like that every night. He's going through the motions, but he's not really living."

"He's quieter in class, too," Flint murmured. "He's usually first out the gate with answers, and this week, nothing. Plus he got busted texting in World Lit last Wednesday. He _never_ gets busted texting."

Nick fidgeted again with his blazer. "He pretty much doesn't eat, and he's playing the most depressing songs ever, every night. It hurts to look at him."

David nodded in agreement. "We _know_ Blaine. We know he shuts down when he's really upset. And…well. He's shutting down. We - " he gestured along the Council table at Wes and Thad, " - think he might see his dorm expulsion as an opportunity to transfer out. To McKinley, of course. I think he has an aunt around there, Kurt's there, and there's no way he'd go back to Toledo."

"He said he wasn't planning on that though! We had this talk right after Kurt left, didn't we?" Jeff's distress was almost tangible.

"Two weeks ago, he wasn't looking at not being able to come back to Dalton," Wes shrugged. "He may not have planned it out, but the way he's been acting, who'd be surprised if he decided to not fight the Board? Easy way out. He doesn't have to lift a finger and the next thing you know he's spending senior year in Lima and we're out the best lead singer the Warblers have ever had."

"Not to mention we lose a really awesome friend," David noted softly.

"Twenty minutes," Thad called warningly, looking up from the watch on his left wrist.

"I don't really get why this is bothering him so much." Trent was staring at the beige and white ceiling as if it would give him the answer.

"I don't think he gets why it's bothering him so much either," David admitted. "But whatever the case, we've got to do something. Help him through this for his sake…and ours."

* * *

><p>"Nice try, kid, but no, 'Khan Noonien Singh' was not the Khan that ruled Mongolia." Across campus in her Peabody Hall classroom, Holly mumbled to herself as she corrected pop quizzes in purple ink - she hated using red pens, so pedestrian and she was convinced that bad news in purple ink had to be less of a low blow. "Funny, though. Too bad I can't give you an A for effort."<p>

With a final flourish, she wrote "D minus - see me after class" at the top of the paper and shoved it aside. Slumping down in her desk chair, she idly examined her boots where they stretched out in front of her. _Thirty seconds of peace. Then back to the grind. _A quick check of the stack showed she only had fifteen quizzes left. Excellent.

Warblers rehearsal was at 4:30, and minus walking time, she had about forty-five minutes before she had to be there. She guessed she could probably get the rest done before then and wouldn't have to spend rehearsal grading. Though she did wonder how she would then distract herself from the a cappella equivalent of Muzak. Shudder. _Time's up. _Holly sat up and grabbed another quiz and her pen. She began to work methodically, further depleting the pile of papers waiting for attention. She was so absorbed, she didn't hear footsteps echoing through the marble-floored hallway, didn't notice the student who stopped at her classroom door and peered inside.

He knocked firmly to get her attention. "Miss Holliday?"

She looked up in surprise at the unexpected voice. "Hey! Mr. Anderson! Come on in!" She waved Blaine into the room. "What are you doing here? On your way to rehearsal?"

"In a manner of speaking." He maneuvered into the classroom, gingerly carrying a very large and unwieldy stack of paper in his arms. Making his way over to the desk indicated for him, he slipped the stack onto a neighboring table with exaggerated caution. "I was in the Admin building, Peabody is on the way from there to Dunstable. Thought I'd stop in and say hello, maybe walk you to class." He smiled politely and took his seat, brushing non-existent wrinkles out of his blazer as he did so.

"Gentlemanly of you." Holly smiled back. "Of course, we have about forty minutes before rehearsal and I'm grading quizzes, but I appreciate the thought. Apple?" She plucked a bright red McIntosh from a gigantic, overflowing bowl of assorted apples that sat at her right arm.

"N...no, that's all right." He blinked, confused. "Do you...have a particular thing for apples?"

With a grin, she sank her teeth into the fruit to chew and swallow a large bite before answering. "Nope. Teenage boys have a particular thing for giving apples to teachers."

"These are all from your students?"

"And some of the Warblers too," Holly breezily waved a hand at the bowl. "I got three from Nick. Six from Jeff. Oh! And _this_ - " she leaned down out of sight for a moment, struggling back up to place an unfeasibly enormous exotic fruit basket on top of her graded quiz pile. " - this is from Wes."

"Fletcher?" His eyes felt like they were about to pop right out of his head. "Wow. Wouldn't have thought he had it in him to be so demonstrative."

"A fruit basket is hardly a serenade at the Gap," she remarked teasingly, lifting the heavy basket back to the floor. Blaine frowned and flushed darkly. "Oh, come on, I was just joking, kid. Lighten up, you walked into that one."

"It was a stupid thing to do," he muttered. "I've done a lot of stupid things this year."

"No one's perfect." Holly shrugged, but then looked more closely at the tenor, noticing the eye circles for the first time. "Hey – you. I know I'm not really your teacher – or _a_ teacher, if we're being picky – but is there something you want to talk about?"

"Nope." Realizing he'd let his calm, collected front slip a little, Blaine clammed right up, refusing to say another word to the substitute, who made a face at him.

"Mr. Anderson, I am the _all time champion_ of the game Everything Is Fine. You're barely starting out. I can't be fooled by a novice."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's true, but I still don't have anything to talk about." His smirk was bitter as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms firmly over his chest.

"Suit yourself." Not about to push the subject, Holly shrugged and returned to her quiz grading, since they now only had about twenty-five minutes left. Blaine got out his phone and messaged Kurt. For a while, the only sounds in the classroom were her pen scratching across paper and the ticking noises Blaine's phone made when he composed a text. The pile of graded quizzes grew steadily.

After a lengthy back and forth text dialogue, Blaine slipped his phone into his blazer pocket and got up to prowl restlessly around the classroom. Holly looked up only when he uttered a muffled shout of shock.

Oh, good. She'd been waiting for that.

"Er...Miss Holliday?"

"Yeah?" She pressed her lips together so she wouldn't laugh at the dumbfounded expression on his face.

He pointed into the dark corner of the classroom, where a looming shape hulked in the shadows. "What _is_ that?"

"It's a set of Mongolian Battle Armor."

"...any particular reason for it?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I was teaching a unit on Mongolian geography and Genghis Khan's role in it, of course."

"So you wore that?"

"Mmhmm." Holly looked back down at the quiz she was grading and checked an answer as correct.

"How did it _get_ here?"

"In my Civic."

Neither of them said anything for a while. She kept grading. Blaine seemed to be groping for words.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a very unconventional teacher?"

"It's come up." Holly flashed a quick smile at the flummoxed student, who had pulled his phone back out and was typing with a little more frantic speed than before – she guessed he was texting Kurt again, now trying to find out more information about her. Highly amused, she returned to her last quiz, finishing it in fairly short order. "There. And with ten minutes to spare. Want to get a head start on walking to Dunstable?"

"Um, no?" His voice raised at the end in a question, as if he wasn't sure what he wanted.

"No?" She frowned. "I was under the impression that punctuality was good, but being early was even better. Don't you want to drop that paperwork somewhere?"

"No, really, that's okay. We can just, you know, chill for a few more minutes. Have you seen the murals in this hall?"

Holly stared at the student in front of her, who refused to meet her gaze. "Er...no. Maybe another time. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Blaine fiddled with the stack of music on the next table, clearly trying to stall her, but why? And actually, what _was_ with all that paper?

"Say, what is that stuff?"

He glanced up, guarded. "Sheet music. Nothing important."

"That's a _lot_ of music. I thought you guys had already chosen your numbers for the fundraiser." She got up, walking over to the desk and pulling one of the copies off the top of the stack. She frowned at the title. "'Candles'? Isn't this is your music from Regionals?"

"Um, yeah." He moved to collect up the music, but Holly put out a hand to keep him from getting to it.

"This isn't on any of the performance agendas for the rest of the year, and no one else can sing the countertenor part anyway." She began to rifle through the rest of the stack. "Not that I don't like the song, but Dr. Michaelson will _totally _freak out if you do 'Raise Your Glass' at the alumni fundraiser."

Blaine tried to edge closer, but she kept maneuvering to put herself in his way. "Yes, he would. If we were doing it, which we aren't. Really, Miss Holliday, this is nothing."

Digging further, Holly was even more perplexed. "Some of this music is dated from competitions you couldn't have taken part in - they're years old. Is _any _of this for rehearsal later?"

He gave up. "Rehearsal is now." He kept his expression carefully neutral as she looked at him, one eyebrow up inquiringly.

"No, Wes told me it was at 4:30."

"Yes. Yes, he did. Thad also told me that, and asked me to photocopy this just about completely unnecessary pile of music for the rehearsal hall library, which...is a task that did not need to be done today."

Holly nodded. "Ah. We've been gotten out of the way."

"Yup." The tenor smiled, but it was a smile laced with irony. "You've got it. The Warblers are now at the hall convening an emergency meeting to discuss the...shall we say, sad bastardness of one Mr. Blaine Anderson and the possibility of his bolting from Dalton."

"I see." She nodded archly. "And yet you have nothing to discuss."

His mouth tightened. "Not really."

"Fine. Whatever." Holly wasn't about to force the kid to talk, even if his evasion was severely irritating and she really, _really_ wanted to know why the Warblers thought he was thinking of leaving. Although she could guess. "Can we talk about how they felt the need to lie to us to keep us from their little pow-wow?"

He looked up in surprise, eyes wide and brows high. "What about it?"

"They lied to us. It's fine by me, I'm new and a teacher, I get why I'm not wanted. But you don't see anything wrong with your friends pushing you out of the way so they can talk about you behind your back?"

Blaine's smile was polite nearly to the point of obnoxious patronization as he explained. "It's just...how things are done. They get me out of the way to discuss strategy. I pretend I don't know what they're up to. They pretend they don't know that I know. Then there's a mutual discussion."

Holly blinked. "Okay. That may be the dumbest thing I ever heard."

"Come again?" The teenager found himself taken aback by the bluntness.

"It's stupid! For some of the smartest boys in Ohio, you can be so backwards."

"It…what?" If he were at all prone to flailing, he suspected he would have been doing so.

"It's a diplomatic way of letting your friends gossip about you! It's ridiculous, it smacks of unnecessary drama – not that I don't appreciate drama, but come on. You guys are supposed to be the leaders of tomorrow? Yikes." She grabbed half of the paper stack and shoved it into Blaine's arms, then gathered the other half up to herself and began striding rapidly out the door. "Let's go, kid."

"What are we doing?"

"We're going to go talk to your friends," Holly shot back over her shoulder. "And you know what? While I'm on a roll, we're going to bury 'Girl From Ipanema' back in the bomb shelter you crazy kids dug it out of."

"What?"

* * *

><p>"I'm telling you, Jeff. Kidnapping is seriously not a viable option." Wes was pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "No one has any ideas? Seriously? We have maybe five minutes."<p>

"What do you want, Wes? He doesn't belong to us." Nick's voice burned with the frustration they all felt at not being able to immediately figure out what to do about their friend.

"Of course not, I just thought we'd be better at figuring out how to make him see -" Wes was cut off by the sudden simultaneous appearance of Holly Holliday and Blaine Anderson, the pair bursting through the dark, polished wood doors of the rehearsal hall in a flurry of thrown paper.

The look on Blaine's face alone was enough to stun the roomful of Warblers into silence, never mind the one on Holly's as she arrived to stand hipshot behind their lead. The lengthy walk from Peabody to Dunstable, on a warm day with heavy stacks of paper in the arms of both of them...well, it hadn't exactly done wonders for a pair of tempers that were already on the slightly ragged side.

A smile of the sort that would have The Joker questioning his next move spread across Blaine's face. "Gentlemen. So glad to see you all here. Shall we talk?"

_**Author's Note: ** Uh oh, someone's a little peeved._


	6. The Fan! It's Been Hit!

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_Oh, Angsty!Blaine and the Slightly Oblivious To Social Nuance Pips. How I adore you. And Holly, you nutjob. This is still not going as I had planned (and the next chapter came out of nowhere and is a little HUH? and I almost never got THIS chapter done because I was having way too much fun working on  
>THAT one, and if I ever get it finished it'll go up this week, cross fingers) yet I cannot help but enjoy the process of writing it. I hope you all are enjoying the process of reading it. Seeing the alerts pile up in my mailbox makes me ridiculously happy, I cannot thank you all enough for them.<em>

_(and there's more of you, you're multiplying like bunnies, or disposable lighters. welcome to the asylum.)_

_Forgot my disclaimer last time, and it's needed this time: today, there is Language. Not much, but it's peppered here and there. It won't be a regular occurrence, never mind that my normal vocabulary gives sailors pause. _And yes. That is a 'Dalton' shout-out in there. I love 'Dalton,' I think CP Coulter is a tiny little package of awesome. Um..._I don't own Glee, but I LOVE Glee. Oh! And spoilers here through...hm, we're still stuck around Born This Way, I think. _

_(but the Prom Queen episode, OH EM EFF GEE. Squee! I died and died again.) _

**Chapter Five: The Fan! It's Been Hit!**

No one moved or spoke for several seconds. Papers fell around Blaine and Holly like snowflakes, brushing to the floor with a gentle swishing sound. Once they had all landed, the room was perfectly silent and still except for breathing.

It was Thad who broke the silence. "Blaine, you know you don't have to throw stuff around every time you enter a room, right?" His face was a study in consternation.

"But it got your attention, didn't it?" Blaine's own expression was distinctly unamused, his eyes dark with anger that wasn't too deeply repressed. Only the habits of a lifetime and his manners kept him in check as he stared down his classmates and friends. "And now that I have it, it's my turn to talk."

The _good _news was that the Warblers could see that Blaine was much more animated than he had been in a few days. The _bad_ news was that it wasn't a happy sort of animated. Everyone but the two new arrivals squirmed uncomfortably in their seats.

"Absolutely, Junior Warbler Anderson," Wes scrambled to regain his metaphorical footing as well as the upper hand, rapping his gavel on the table in what he hoped was a firm and authoritative manner. "You may take the floor."

"Oh, what_ever_, Wes, I know you weren't following Parliamentary Procedure when you were all talking about me." For all that he had fronted to Holly as being blasé about the Warbler intervention, the whole thing had actually really hacked Blaine off, and the long walk to Dunstable had not helped at all. It was a warm day, he was toting several pounds of completely unnecessary paper, the insane substitute teacher walking with him griped incessantly about the rudeness of the situation, and he knew full well his friends were plotting to interfere with his life_._

No wonder his vaunted self-control and assurance was beginning to slip. Even _Gandhi's_ self-control would have been sorely tested in this situation.

The Warblers meant well, but interference was interference...and interference was something that Blaine Anderson had heartily tired of in seventeen short, but extraordinarily eventful, years of living. He began to pace the room in annoyance, not really looking at anyone. "So, what's the verdict? You want to give me a pep talk? Or kick me out for being a total drag? I assume you came to _some_ kind of conclusion."

"What? No. Dude, hold on - " David looked up, startled at the accusation. " - kick you out? We were trying to find a way to make you _stay_."

"Oh, so now you just assume I'm leaving." Blaine's eyebrows went up as he scoffed and nodded mockingly. "Great."

"You going to tell us it hadn't crossed your mind at all, Anderson?" Now David crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair and leveling a gaze on the tenor that dared him to deny it.

Of all the Warblers besides Nick, David was the one who knew Blaine best – they'd been roommates the previous year when Blaine first arrived, and it had been David to whom Blaine opened up when he was finally ready to start talking about what had happened in Toledo. David was a good friend, a real stand up guy, and he also happened to have an unparalleled ability to see right through bullshit prevarication.

So Blaine knew he was going to lose the staring contest and that he wouldn't get away with so much as an evasion of the truth.

"Fine," he gritted out. "Yes. It has crossed my mind." He picked up his pace, knowing he wanted to continue but not sure of what he wanted to say. He was aware of the staring eyes and concerned murmurs that surrounded him.

Jeff leaned over to Nick, whispering, "He's walking..._and_ talking...and we are _so screwed._"

"Blaine." Wes' tone was diplomatic. "We understand that you're upset, but we really can't be hasty here. If you're seriously thinking of leaving Dalton, that's a decision that has ramifications for us all." The Council spokesman didn't notice the collective wince that traveled the room. Holly, still standing by the door, actually dropped her face into her palm at the tone deaf attempt at reason.

"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten about that, Wes. I haven't been even slightly torn apart by the thought of screwing over the Warblers. I've been sleeping like a baby, what with not thinking about that _at all_."

Even Wes' legendary patience had limits. "You don't have to be a jerk about it."

Blaine just rolled his eyes and let out an angry bark of laughter. "You're the ones talking about me behind my back, but I'm the one being a jerk. Awesome. You're making my decision easier by the minute."

"Jesus, Blaine, what is your _deal?_" Now Thad chimed in, ignoring David's frantic attempts to wave him down and shut him up before he committed an even bigger boneheaded blunder than Wes had. "You can't seriously be this moody over a long distance relationship. Quit being so freakin' emo."

Blaine stopped abruptly near the door, his back to the rest of the room, shoulders as tense as a bundle of steel cables.

David fought the urge to dive under the Council Table.

Nick and Jeff stared at each other, wide-eyed in shock.

Holly, who had enlisted Trent and a tall blond junior she thought might be named Logan to help her pick up the scattered music, froze where she knelt over the pile of paper, a copy of 'Life In A Northern Town' (Sectionals, 1986) clenched so tightly in her hand that it would have to be discarded later and recopied.

Wes inched his chair away from Thad as surreptitiously as possible and was glad that as dumb as he'd been, at least he hadn't said _that_.

Flint whistled under his breath. "Ooooh, _crap_."

And everyone else just stood or sat in various positions of terror and awe.

"Emo? I'm 'emo' now, Thad?" The voice that growled out of the normally easygoing lead singer was dangerously low and audibly on the edge of exploding.

Everyone decided in that moment that no, they really did not like Blaine Anderson when he was angry.

Blaine spun around, spreading his hands out in a gesture that was as helpless as it was furious. "I'm not emo. I'm _pissed off_. And the fact that any of you think it's only because I miss my boyfriend is just..." He gripped a double handful of hair and pulled at it, letting out an inarticulate snarl of fury as he did so. "None of you have any idea whatsoever. None."

Holly recovered first and stood up to face the angry teen. "So explain it." She waved her hand around to encompass everyone in the room. "If you're actually considering leaving, you owe them that much. Not telling them about plans that affect them is just as bad as them discussing you behind your back."

Jaw clenched, lips tight, Blaine stared at the meddling teacher and vaguely wished he could set people on fire with the power of his mind. _If she'd never pushed – if they hadn't sent him on that stupid errand – if the party hadn't happened – if Kurt had never left!_

"None of you have any idea what it's like," he began, and the bitter ice in his voice made them all flinch. "Imagine being at a school where everyone told you that if you wanted to stay safe, you couldn't be yourself." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and began to pace the room again. "Imagine being beaten up and harassed by people you've known your entire life. Kids you've grown up with who were fine with you until you were suddenly something they didn't like. And it got so bad that you were forced to leave your _home_ and the few friends you did have."

"Blaine, we didn't mean - " Nick reached out to his roommate, who cut him off with a vicious slashing gesture, and went on.

"So you have to leave. You're sent two and a half hours from everything you ever knew, which is just inconvenient enough that you can't even visit often. You're told it's okay to be yourself in this new school, but you don't know anyone, so how can you be sure? Everything's upside down and why? Because you're gay. That's who you are and some small-minded idiots _don't like that_. Even though you did nothing wrong, _you _have to change everything.

"That's a lot to deal with, right? But I found you guys. And I realized that they were right, _you _were right - I could be myself here. So I relaxed, I opened up. But I was still mad, still thinking it was..." He searched for a word and decided to just drop the bomb. "...fucking unfair that I'd had to give up so much, and maybe, if I wished hard enough, I could get one more thing to make it right."

Thad tried to grab Blaine's hand as he passed the table, but the younger student shook it off with a dirty look and continued. "That's when Kurt came along. And yeah, I was a little slow about it but...God! I finally got there. It was all there! I was in a school where I could be me. Where I was safe. I had friends. I had music. Now I had a boyfriend too, a completely awesome boyfriend. And as soon as I had it all in my hands and felt like maybe I could really finally _breathe_ again, it's all taken away like it was a cosmic joke. No more boyfriend close by. Possibly no more safe haven. _It has been a bit much._"

Everyone looked at each other, unsure of what they could even say. By now Blaine was standing by the door, hands out of pockets, fists clenched, jaw set, and breathing angrily. "So forgive me if I feel like considering actually taking charge of my life and going to be with my boyfriend, having been given the dubious 'opportunity' to perhaps do so. To choose where I go out of love instead of fear." His voice dropped again. "To elect to go _to _something instead of running _from_ something."

The room was deadly silent. Out of words, and with an ironic salute, Blaine turned on his heels and stalked out of the hall, slamming the doors behind him.

Holly immediately moved to put her back firmly against the double doors. With her head down, blonde hair falling over her shoulders, she put both hands up to ward off the rush of Warblers trying to go after their friend. "Nope."

"But Miss Holli-"

"Nuh-uh."

"We have to-"

"_Nyet_."

"He's our fri-!"

"Nnnnzzzt." She looked up, drawing one hand across her throat in a slicing motion, ending with a finger over her lips. At last the boys fell silent and backed off, and she dropped her hands - though she didn't move from the door. She simply placed her hands behind her back and gripped the brass door handles. "I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that any of us are the last people he wants to see right about now." She eyeballed Thad speculatively. "Probably _especially_ you."

"I didn't mean to set off World War Three," the senior protested.

"Newsflash?" Holly cocked her head to the side and gave him a wry look. "The word 'emo' isn't really considered a compliment in any culture."

"What are we going to do?" Jeff asked plaintively. "He's totally going to transfer now. This sucks."

"Well, what we're going to do right now...is rehearse," she replied, waving the irredeemably mangled Dream Academy sheet music that she still held in her hand.

"What, _now_?" Trent was astonished.

"No, at midnight. Yes, _now_," the Advisor mocked. "Does anyone have any better ideas?" Everyone raised their hands. "That don't involve chasing after Blaine?" Everyone put their hands down. "Super!"

"We kind of need him, though," Wes ventured. "He _is_ our current lead singer."

"I'm not going to count on him coming to rehearsal for a couple of days while he cools off," David warned. "Thad, you're the understudy."

"Hold up." Holly put her hands up again. "I have an idea." Actually, she had two ideas, but she wasn't about to admit to them that she was deliberately stalling them in order to allow Blaine time to get off-campus. Not that she was sure that was what he was doing, but she figured there were better than even odds that it was. Tilting her chin up, she continued to address the remaining Warblers. "Change everything."

Predictably, rumbling began immediately – rumbling that had nothing to do with going after Blaine. Perfect. "Hear me out." She looked at each of them, quelling them into silence. "This is a perfect opportunity to showcase other singers."

"We don't do that," Wes stated flatly. "The Council chooses the lead for the year in a series of closed auditions. Lead. Singular."

"Yeah, well, your lead just ran off in a snit, is probably not coming back for a couple of days, and you have a performance this weekend for which you need to rehearse. Putting your eggs in one basket is working out really well for you, huh?"

There was nothing anyone could say to that.

"So." She brought her hands together with a loud clap. "My proposal is this: we pick new songs from your convenient new additions to the rehearsal hall library. They're established in the Warblers' repertoire, you won't have to arrange anything new, and the alumni at the fundraiser will see it as a tribute." She felt pleased with herself for coming up with this on the fly, but also a little miffed at herself – if she'd thought of this sooner, she wouldn't have spent a boring first week wishing for spontaneous deafness.

David looked thoughtful. "That is not entirely a bad idea."

"It's a terrible idea! We only have a few days!" Trent was outraged.

"You probably _know_ half of these songs," Holly countered amiably, refusing to back down. "If you can learn 'Girl From Ipanema' in a few days – and I _saw_ you all do it – then you'll be fine with these. Which, by the way, are _way_ less boring than any of the barbershop quartet monstrosities you dug out."

"Thank _God_, someone finally said something," Flint sank down onto one of the couches with exaggerated relief. "If we sang 'Lollipop' one more time, I was going to jam one down someone's throat."

"Those are classics," snapped Wes. "They're all very appropriate."

"So are these," pointed out the teacher, shaking a clump of papers at the boys. "And more importantly, they're_ not boring._"

"I like 'Girl From Ipanema,'" Now Wes was protesting, but it was a weak protest that withered under Holly's gimlet glare.

"Oh? Then you won't mind telling us how many song plays it has in your iTunes." She waited. "Uh-huh. Thought so. You don't even own it, I bet."

Wes had to admit that this was true, and that actually, he wasn't too unhappy about that.

"I also thought, as I mentioned earlier, that you could take this opportunity to assign different guys as leads on different songs and call _that_ their audition for next year's lead, if you're so bent on keeping that tradition." Holly shook her head disapprovingly, letting them know what she thought of that idea. "Then you could see how they perform in front of an actual audience and not just, you know, you guys and the other students."

David grinned. "I seriously like this idea. It's smart."

"Michaelson will hate it. He likes our traditions." Thad was worried. "Aren't we in enough trouble?"

"Didn't I tell you I'd teach you the art of subtle rebellion?" Holly pushed away from the doors – confident now that she'd distracted the glee club long enough for Blaine to get well out of their reach for a few hours – and beamed a brilliant smile around the room that melted half of the hearts there. "Lesson One: Present your rebellion in such a way that your quarry not only thinks it was his idea, it's a very good idea."

"How are we going to do that?" All of the boys had looked at each other in confusion, but it was Nick who spoke up now. "We don't really talk to Dr. Michaelson. Especially now that we're trying to fly under his radar."

"You let me handle it." Tossing her hair over her shoulders, Holly was speaking with more confidence than she felt. "And if that doesn't work, then you learn Lesson Two."

"Which is what?" Wes' face was set in lines of suspicion as he asked a question he was A) certain he already knew the answer to and B) wasn't going to like being right about.

"_Fait Accompli_," she replied. "Or in English, shoot first and apologize later."

"Not that I'm not really on board with you, because personally I think this is all pretty excellent," David spoke up slowly. "But why are you doing this?"

"Because I don't see why not. You're already all good kids. You deserve better than to be shoved into boxes and told what to do and how to behave, and deep down you all know it." They all nodded at that, probably one of the only times they'd ever overtly acknowledged that sometimes, they found the Gracious Living atmosphere of Dalton to be a little stifling. "It's also clear that Blaine needs a break. Not having to concentrate on leading an entire concert might give him some time to sort out whatever it is he wants to do." She hoped. He didn't seem like that Rachel girl from McKinley who hoarded moments in the spotlight like they were precious treasure, but once again...she didn't know for sure. Maybe he'd be mad that he didn't get to bury himself in work to hide from his problems anymore. Too bad.

Around the room, the boys nodded again, leading her to think she was probably right in thinking he'd be relieved. Or they were just used to agreeing to things. Maybe both. She could also see looks of hope beginning to dawn on several faces - hope that Blaine's decision would be to remain at the private school. After the speech he'd delivered, she doubted it (and couldn't blame him), but right now she didn't have the heart to try to keep them from getting those hopes up.

Instead, she just raised her eyebrows and grinned. "And besides that? The really big thing?" She batted her eyes in mock innocence. "I have just never done well with limits. Come on, guys! Let's do this."

An hour later, after they'd systematically re-destroyed all the piles of music and were happily jamming along on Fleetwood Mac's 'Second Hand News' - with Jeff surprising them all by taking and totally rocking the lead on the tune that had won the Warblers a spot to Nationals in 1978 – Holly knew she had won them over.

Next step: bearding the lion in his den. Time to engineer a nice, casual chat with Headmaster Samuel Michaelson.

Blaine...she would definitely deal with him later.

**_Author's Note:_**_ Because where has Blaine run off to anyway, hm?_


	7. Being Somebody Else

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_That went faster than I thought it would. HI!_

_Many thanks and much love to those of you who put me and this fic on alerts list and who leave reviews. BIG love to ILLK and anyone else who has recced this fic anywhere; I stumbled across the one rec by accident and it made me squee._

_I know this story isn't everyone's cup of tea, it's pretty tame and I know I get all serious and dialogue focused and there's so not nearly enough cute boys making out. So if you stick with me while I forge my way through this, you're awesome and I love you._

_Disclaimers? I don't own Glee, and because I plot with the speed of a land-bound sloth, we're still only spoiled up through "Born This Way." Maybe a wee tiny language warning. Also? I am so sorry. I still have no idea how many chapters we're going to end up with. I'm going to try and start tightening things up soon._

_Never mind that this chapter is the longest yet._

**Chapter Six – Being Somebody Else**

As soon as he'd left the rehearsal hall, Blaine had made a beeline for his car, not even stopping to change clothes before he jumped in and headed west. He'd yanked off his blazer and tie on the run, throwing them into the back seat and not caring how rumpled they got, not right now. It wasn't like he didn't have more of the damn things hanging neatly in his closet, regimental, tidy, uniform, identical. Ugh.

He wanted to get away from all of that even more than he had before, now.

It was an hour into his impromptu road trip before Blaine realized that he wasn't sure what he wanted to do when he got to Lima. He both did and didn't want to go see Kurt. Being around him always made Blaine feel better. But while he was angry; he thought he might end up picking a fight out of misdirected anger, and Kurt didn't deserve that. Or he'd spill out all of his sadness and fury and Kurt would feel like it was all his fault and would apologize, unnecessarily guilty...his boyfriend didn't deserve that either.

But dammit. He wanted a hug. And someone to talk to. Still, if he couldn't be sure he wasn't going to hurt his Kurt's feelings - however inadvertently - it was best to not go to the Hummel-Hudson house. Not only did he not care to cause problems within their relationship, Kurt's stepbrother was _extremely _tall and very protective.

Blaine was also not going to call Mercedes or Tina. He still wasn't entirely sure where he stood with Mercedes and didn't feel like he knew Tina well enough to burden her with his woes. Not to mention he couldn't trust that they wouldn't let something slip to Kurt.

Letting out an incomprehensible oath, he smacked the dashboard in frustration. How had he gotten to the point where he had no confidantes anywhere? He couldn't - well, didn't want to - talk to anyone at Dalton (oh, _especially _not that crazy Miss Holliday, why hadn't Kurt warned him a little more pointedly that she was in serious need of medicating?), and didn't know who to talk to from McKinley. He certainly hadn't kept in touch with anyone from Toledo. Except for his parents, and the sort of heart to heart he needed tonight was not going to play well there.

He loathed the term "fag hag" - he didn't care for the word "fag" for a thousand obvious reasons, and felt that "hag" was just not a nice thing to call any woman - but for the first time in his life he wished he had one. Someone who would listen to him, who understood him, who could be trusted to appreciate the drama of keeping the discussion from Kurt...oh. Hey. Wait. Pulling over into a gas station, he yanked out his phone and composed a hasty text message that landed in a Lima bedroom in fairly short order.

(Message from Blaine Warbler: _Don't say anything out loud if you're not alone. If you are alone, call me, please._)

Seconds later, his phone caroled out Human League's 'Don't You Want Me' and he picked up. "Hey. Thanks for calling."

"What's wrong?"

"Who says anything has to be wrong for me to want to talk to you?" He could hear the forced joviality in his voice and knew he wouldn't be able to fool Rachel Berry. Her bullshit detector was nowhere near as sensitive as David's - and with certain people (Finn Hudson) it seemed downright defective - but she was no dummy to begin with, and he wasn't exactly Mr. Subtle right now.

"You wanted to talk to me alone, which means you don't want to talk to Kurt, and that means something is wrong," Rachel pointed out logically. "Occam's Razor. The simplest answer is usually the correct one."

"I think that theory is a bit more complicated than that," Blaine muttered, rubbing his forehead as a headache set in. It was probably down to the fact that he'd spent much of the last two weeks with his back so tense, his shoulders were threatening to make a permanent home up around his ears. "But yeah. You're right, something's wrong. Not with Kurt, I just...didn't want to worry him."

"Well, I'm flattered that you felt you could come to me with your issues. You know, people don't really give me a lot of credit for being a problem solver. It's nice when yet another of my many talents is acknowledged."

"...Right."

"And of course I'm always happy to be of service to someone with whom I share such a strong connection and talent."

"Okay then! Listen, Rachel, can I come pick you up? Please? I'm halfway to Lima already. We'll go somewhere and talk."

"Oh! Well...yes. That's fine..." She finished the sentence with uncertainty threaded through her voice, drifting off at the end. "Something must really be wrong. You usually plan better."

"I'll see you in an hour," he replied firmly. "Thanks, Rachel. Really. Thanks"

"You're welcome."

He ended the call and pulled back onto the road. He was, for once, grateful that part of his father's weak compensation for emotional distance was an unlimited gas credit card. He would need it tonight.

* * *

><p>As they pulled away from the Berry residence, Rachel was puzzled when Blaine didn't turn in the direction she expected. "Aren't we going to the Lima Bean?" Over the last few months, the two of them had made it a point to do coffee and a movie every two or three weeks. She had probably expected that even if he had shown up pretty much out of the blue, they'd at least keep to the coffee routine.<p>

"No. I don't want to go anywhere we might run into anyone." He concentrated too hard on his driving, staring at the road like he could drill holes in it with his gaze.

"Oh."

"I know a diner outside of town. About thirty minutes outside. That should be far enough…oh, no, they probably don't have anything you can eat," he realized, abashed. "I'm so sorry. I forgot. The vegan thing."

"It's fine. I'm not really hungry. I'll just have a coffee." Rachel reached over and placed her hand on his arm, eyes full of worry. "Blaine, what's going on? You're distracted, you're twitchy, and you're still mostly dressed for school. Wait. You're only _mostly _dressed. Why are you only mostly dressed? This is uncharacteristic. You're not in your tie and blazer. I…I don't know how to process this."

_Tell me about it. _His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "I'll explain everything. I will. I just...can't, here. Not while I'm driving." He spared a quick glance and smile for the slight, wide-eyed girl in the passenger's seat, a smile he knew she'd see was meant to reassure but that he also knew really didn't do much in that regard. Well, there wasn't much he could do about that. "Hey, why don't you tell me about how you guys are doing for Nationals? I bet now that Kurt's back, you guys have all kinds of crazy plans."

He knew from Kurt that Nationals planning was actually kind of a mess at present, because Mr. Schuester was not really in touch with...well, this century. Plus all the kids were wound up about the upcoming prom and distracted by their plans for it. But he also knew that Rachel would happily fill any silence with glee club chatter and that he didn't have to do more than nod and agree every once in a while.

That was another reason why he'd called her instead of Kurt. Because she would talk just to hear herself talk and not because she was trying too hard to distract him. Because she'd worry about what was going on, but she wouldn't try to take half the blame for it. Rachel was, in many ways, the least complicated friend he had.

He got the impression that that was something not many people could say about Rachel Berry. He wondered if it said more about himself or other people.

Yeah. Probably himself.

The friendship between Rachel Berry and Blaine Anderson baffled Kurt (and Finn, and Mercedes, and...everyone), and Blaine couldn't really explain it except to mildly remind his boyfriend (and everyone else) that it was no different from any time that Kurt and Mercedes spent hours at the mall. He just liked her company. Rachel was overly ambitious and frequently thoughtless and he could see how she'd be off-putting to some. But she was also funny, whether she meant to be or not, and she really was a nice person, generally, plus they liked to sing along to a lot of the same music.

After their one-time drunken makeout session and getting used to the fact that in the end, Blaine was unquestionably batting for his own team and was in no way suitable boyfriend material for her, Rachel had decided he was still excellent to have as a friend. He looked good, smelled nice, was gentlemanly and not prone to the same bitchy repartee as Kurt – while she adored Kurt, sometimes his pointed barbs could be difficult to take. The two of them sounded good when they sang together, he listened to her ideas and plans and didn't dismiss them out of hand just because she was Crazy Rachel Berry, and it was nice, she realized, to be around a great looking teenage boy and not have to worry about whether or not he _liked_ her liked her.

And so they got along, Rachel and Blaine, which is why he could pick her up on a random school night and take her for coffee and conversation. She wasn't expecting the heaviness of the conversation he was about to spring on her, though, and he hoped that it would be okay.

It probably would. She would _definitely _appreciate the drama of it all.

To Blaine's very great relief, he didn't have to mumble more than a "Really?" and a "You've got to be kidding," during the half hour drive. He relished the tiny window of time that he had before he had to talk. For all that he _needed_ to talk, he wasn't sure how to _start _talking, and he was well aware that as soon as they had their orders in that Rachel would, out of worry and a seething curiosity, demand that he explain himself.

Sure enough, after they'd arranged themselves in the blue vinyl-covered chairs on either side of the sticky plastic table, after they'd given their orders to the teenage waiter - and the tiny diner had, remarkably, had a few Rachel-friendly options after all, so he felt a little better about dragging her out - she sat up, neatly laid a paper napkin out across her plaid-skirted knees, and fixed him with a stern look. "Right. Now it's your turn."

"Turn for what?" he asked, tearing his own napkin into tiny shreds and avoiding her gaze, patently stalling for the second time that day. He rather stupidly hoped this stall would work better. He knew it wouldn't. Blaine suspected that Rachel and Miss Holliday had learned their conversational techniques from the same self-help book or Carnegie course or wherever assertive, slightly crazy women learned how to steamroll their way zanily through a life they obviously saw as a Hollywood movie.

"You don't get to whisk me off to some diner in the middle of nowhere and not answer questions, Blaine Anderson," Rachel all but hissed. "Did you lie to me? Are you breaking up with Kurt? Because I will hurt you if you are. I wore really pointy-toed shoes just in case I had to kick you in the shins. I abhor violence," she continued piously while straightening her silverware, "But I feel that dramatically, a confession of your plans to dump Kurt would call for at least one bruised shin."

Of course she did. "No, Rachel, I'm not. Come on, you know I just saw him this last weekend." And oh, how he wished he'd never left the cheerfully chaotic tranquility of the Hummel-Hudson home on Sunday night. That afternoon, he and Finn and Burt had watched the hockey game while Kurt smiled indulgently and worked on a sewing project that he refused to explain. They'd ordered pizza and Carole had made brownies…it had been soothing and domestic and homey. It was nice to feel like part of a more normal family.

But it had been Saturday that Blaine liked best.

On Saturday, they'd been left to their own devices when the rest of the family took off for various errands and destinations, so he and Kurt had actually put together a picnic that they took out to the backyard - neither of them were confident in their safety if they went to a park, but they'd wanted some alone time on the sunny day. They lay on a blanket over the prickly grass, twined around each other and whispered happy laughter into each other's ears.

Blaine imagined that he could still smell the faint orange blossom scent of the sunscreen Kurt had insisted they both put on. Could still see the green and white wedges of the enormous golf umbrella he'd had to put up. Could still feel the nip of Kurt's teeth at that place right under his right ear that -

He cut the thought off before he could find himself stranded somewhere between melancholy and completely wound up, which was never a good place to be in the first place but especially not when one was sitting across a diner table from Rachel Berry. Coughing and tugging at his collar a bit, Blaine was well aware that he was blushing. "No, this has nothing to do with Kurt," he reiterated quickly, before she could ask why he'd gone all pink. "And I would really rather you not kick me, thank you."

The look on Rachel's face said, quite clearly, _I'm not stupid, but I'm starting to think you are_. "If it has nothing to do with Kurt, you'd be talking to Kurt. Now, talk."

He heaved a sigh. "Fine." _Might as well dive right in. _"Did Kurt tell you that I might have to leave Dalton?"

"He has mentioned it a time or two." Crossing her arms, Rachel leaned across the table towards him. "I don't really understand how everyone else's misbehavior is resulting in you being in trouble."

_Join. The. Club. _"They're holding me up as an example, I guess," he explained, now fiddling with the sugar dispenser. "Since I'm who people see as the leader of the group, I'm supposed to do more to keep the Warblers in line? Really, it should be the Council who gets in trouble, but they're all about to graduate and really, I'm the one who threw the party in the first place. So it's me." He shrugged, holding back the irritation that welled up every time he thought about it. It wasn't that he _wanted_ Nick and Jeff to get kicked out of the dorms, but really, two weeks of detention for destruction of property was _light_. All _Blaine_ had done was host a party...on school grounds...that got a little out of hand...forget it. He'd just get mad again.

Rachel was talking again. "Kurt said you had an appeals board meeting in a little over a month."

"Yeah." He took a long drink from his soda. "The Headmaster scheduled it. He thinks I have a pretty good chance of winning, if I knuckle down and present a good defense."

"Which of course you can do. You're a good speaker, Blaine."

"Thank you. But actually..." Once again, he decided to completely evade her gaze. "I haven't really decided that I'm going to go through with it."

"What does that mean? Of course you're going to go through with it." When Blaine finally looked at her again, Rachel's eyes were wide under the dark fringe of her bangs, open and frank and quite certain that there was no question that he would in fact go through the appeals process. In Rachel's world, if things went wrong, you fixed them, and that was that. Blaine had been kicked out of the dorms and might have to leave Dalton. So he would meet with the appeals board, win, and not have to leave. The end, had Rachel Berry been writing the story.

He wished he had her certainty.

"I could go home," he threw out offhandedly, as if the very idea of it didn't cause every muscle in his body to tighten to the point of burning pain. To hide his sudden discomfort, he looked out the diner window. A man and a woman stood outside by a truck, talking and holding hands. She was smiling brightly at whatever he was saying; when the man reached over and brushed a lock of hair away from her face, the smile became soft and tender. "To Toledo."

"That's insane," Rachel was blunt. "Why would you even think of doing that?"

"I could go back to school there. I'd actually be closer to Lima than I am now." He kept watching the tableau outside, leaning his chin on his hand. Now the man walked over to the passenger side door of the truck and opened it, helping the woman up and into the cab. When he joined her, they scooted together in the middle of the seat and cuddled up. Blaine felt a twist in his stomach at the sweetness of the moment.

"It's a difference of maybe twenty minutes." Back across the table, his friend was solemn and worried. "That's not worth a whole lot when you consider what made you leave. Not that I know the whole story, but you and Kurt have said enough…" Rachel trailed off, casting her gaze down briefly before bringing her eyes back up to lock on his. "I wouldn't want you to risk your safety just to be a little closer. Kurt wouldn't either, and you know it."

He did. Not that Toledo had ever been a serious consideration anyway. He glanced out the window again at the snuggling couple, feeling both voyeuristic and jealous. He and Kurt didn't get enough of those together moments. He wondered if the couple outside appreciated what they had or if they took it for granted. With a tiny, almost inaudible sigh, he came back to the present, in the diner, facing Rachel. "I have another option."

"You do?" A frown wrinkled her brow. "How so?"

Just then, the waiter came with their food, placing a ridiculously enormous salad in front of Rachel and a BLT with fries in front of Blaine. They waited while he provided an array of condiments and topped up their drinks, Rachel almost wriggling with impatience and staring daggers into the poor kid's head until he left. Blaine took a deep breath and dropped his surprise. "I could...actually...transfer to McKinley."

It was almost comical, watching the expressions fly across her face; he'd learned early on that Rachel couldn't bluff to save her life. Everything she ever felt could be read on her face, in those enormous brown eyes, as easily as if she were an open book. He made a quick game of picking her feelings out as they went by - delight, confusion, worry, competitiveness, wistfulness.

"How is that even possible?" she finally asked, a little breathless after processing several emotions in the span of a few seconds. "Are you serious? Really? You could do that? Oh, Blaine! You could go with us to Nationals! Don't think you're getting my solo, of course, but you'd be an unbelievable asset! Kurt would be so happy. Does he know yet? Can you really do it?"

"Easy, tiger." He waved his hands at her, laughing at her whirlwind enthusiasm. "I have an aunt in Lima, she'd be happy to have me stay with her - my uncle died a few years ago and I think she's lonely. Besides, I only said it's an option."

"It's quite obviously one you're considering pretty heavily." Rachel's tone was shrewd, her gaze suddenly contemplative. "And Kurt _doesn't _know."

"He knows I have a widowed aunt in Lima. I've never brought up the possibility of transferring to live with her before."

"Because you liked Dalton."

"Yes." He bit into a French fry, chewing and swallowing with excessive carefulness. "Because I liked Dalton."

"Don't you, still?" Her confusion returned. "Not that I wouldn't be happy to have you at McKinley. It would be nice to have someone considerably less antagonistic towards me at school, someone else who understands the burdens of great talent…and as I said, you know Kurt would be thrilled. But what about Dalton? The Warblers? I would have thought you would have been fighting to stay there. I thought you were happy."

"I was. I am. I mean...that's why I haven't really figured out what to do about it all yet." Propping his head on one hand, he used the other to pick up half of his sandwich and savagely bit a chunk out of it.

"I see." Rachel turned her attention to her salad, and for a few minutes they said nothing as they concentrated on their dinner. But Blaine could practically hear the gears turning in her head. Her thinking was louder than the music playing overhead – and that was saying something, because the local 70's station was on, and Clapton had just gone full-on electric. "I thought Dalton was...ideal. Now Kurt's left and you might, too. Kurt's decision I do understand; but you? Not so much."

"Dalton is fantastic," he admitted after several long moments. "Only with recent events and all...I just think...I'm tired, Rachel. I come off as this confident, articulate guy who knows what he's doing, but in the end, that's just how I get through the day. Only a few people get to see that under it all I'm just another screwed up teenager. Kurt's one. Some of the Warblers. You, now."

"You want to be a screwed up teenager full time?" Her face crinkled up in a combination of laughter and skepticism.

"Kind of, yeah." He had to laugh with her, when she put it that way. But only for a moment. He went on, more subdued. "In Toledo, I was the out gay teenager who had to pretend he didn't care that the football team keyed his car, that the wrestling team tore up his textbooks and flushed the pages down the toilet." He elected to leave out the physical and mental abuse and the teachers who did nothing to stop it; he knew Rachel could fill in the blanks. "At Dalton, I'm the charismatic lead singer of the Warblers, honor student and armchair psychologist. I'm not saying I'm not all of these things to some degree. Just that they're parts of me that I've used to shape what people perceive as entire personalities." Waving his sandwich, he tried to find the words to make her understand. "At some point I'd like to just be me, Blaine Anderson. High school student, glee club member, jumbled up mess, boyfriend to Kurt Hummel."

"That's...kind of what you are now, actually."

"I know. Or I don't know. It would be different in Lima. Easier somehow."

"You really think it would be easier at McKinley?" Rachel's eyes were big and earnest, entreating him to _think_ for a moment. "A school where, every day, one of us was showered with sticky slush for years? Where Kurt spent months crawling out of the dumpsters he'd been thrown into every morning? Where the most powerful – and insane – teacher in Ohio tries to have our choir director fired on a weekly basis? Even Noah Puckerman, football player, juvenile delinquent and self-proclaimed badass, has spent his share of time locked into the Porta Potties." She looked down at her salad, pushing lettuce leaves and tomatoes around with her fork. "It's probably not nearly as bad as you had it in Toledo. But it's not anywhere near as good as you have it at Dalton, either."

"But you guys have each other," Blaine returned, pointing his sandwich at her for emphasis. "You all have each other to lean on, which is more than I had in Toledo. I could be myself in a normal school situation, no need for fronting, because I know you'd all have my back just like I'd have yours. And there's Kurt. That's a big draw, Rachel."

"I know," she replied softly. "Believe me, I know how much the heart's opinion can matter. That's why I'm not going to tell you what to decide, Blaine. I just...I want you to be sure. Don't make this decision all at once. And don't base it just on Kurt. He wouldn't like that." She chewed on her lower lip for a moment before going on. "I know we'd all love to have you. But McKinley isn't a paradise. Don't ever forget why you even met Kurt in the first place. Things are better. Not perfect. You still have friends at Dalton, too, they'd miss you."

"I know."

"Besides, I don't think you're pretending as much as you think you are. Don't sell yourself short. You _are_ charismatic, and articulate, and put together. Not to mention a great kisser." She popped a piece of cucumber into her mouth and smiled as sweetly as a girl could while she chewed.

"You are never going to let me forget that, are you?"

"Of course not. It's going to be a great story for me to tell on talk shows one day when we're both famous."

* * *

><p>They stayed at the diner talking until Rachel pointed out how very late he'd be getting back to Westerville. On the drive home, they exchanged stories about Holly Holliday that had Blaine rethinking his opinion on the teacher a bit. She was still unquestionably insane ("She and Sue Sylvester got along, Blaine. Obviously that doesn't bode well for anyone's mental state.") but apparently she had really done a lot for changing attitudes at McKinley in her short time there.<p>

"Miss Holliday's methods are quite unconventional, and her ideas are sometimes a little – no, a lot - on the mental side, but she's willing to listen to you. She's a bit like you, actually," Rachel flashed him a quick smile to be sure he knew it was a good thing. "She really listens and she doesn't shut you down like others might. And she can be very insightful. You might talk to her, she could have some advice that would be useful."

"Well, maybe." Blaine wondered where he could get a fruit basket before school tomorrow. Talking things out with an impartial adult would be sensible, even if the adult herself wasn't exactly sensible. Besides, Miss Holliday _had _tried to help, even as he was losing his temper in the rehearsal hall. "I'll think about it."

After he walked Rachel to her front door, he impulsively dropped a kiss on her cheek and squeezed her hand. "Thanks for putting up with me tonight, Rachel. I really appreciate you being able to tolerate listening to me be, as Thad would put it, 'emo.'."

His tiny friend stretched up on her toes a bit and returned the platonic smooch. "Of course, Blaine. And it goes without saying that I won't breathe a word to Kurt. You should really talk to him about this soon, though. Whether or not you decide to come here."

"Rachel? Honestly?" He kept hold of her hand and tugged a little. "Do you think I should move to Lima?"

She looked down at her shoes. "I don't want to unduly influence your decision."

"Please. Just your honest opinion. I promise I'm only curious. I'll make my own decision."

"Well..." She glanced back up at him, her mouth a little sad and thoughtful while she considered. "Let's compromise. I'll ask you a question. It'll be relevant and it might help. Don't answer it, just...think about it. Okay?"

"Okay. That works. Sure."

"If you weren't being forced to consider the possibility, would you have ever seriously thought about leaving Dalton in the first place?" With a smile, Rachel withdrew her hand from his, cupped his cheek in her palm for a moment, then skipped through her front door. "Goodnight, Blaine."

He was as stunned as if she _had_ kicked him in the shins. "Goodnight, Rachel."

Maybe he'd hold off on meeting with Holly for a couple of days. Rachel had suddenly given him more than enough to think about.

**_Author's Note: _**_Anderberry! Or is it Blainchel? I like Anderberry better. Whatever, I couldn't resist. Blaine-Rachel friendship is even crackier for me than Klaine love sometimes. _

**_Next Chapter: _**_Of course Headmaster Michaelson is going to be totally on board with Holly's plans for the Warblers' participation in the alumni fundraiser. What could possibly go wrong in this discussion?_


	8. Nobody Expects The Spanish Inquisition

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_Welcome to new readers; love and cookies to you lovely lot who continue to leave reviews and sign up for updates. You all keep me going with this, and you're awesome, and I thank you._

_Disclaimers - Glee is not mine. There's some cursing again. Spoilers through "Born This Way." One day very soon I'll get to change that to "Prom Queen."_

**Chapter Seven – Nobody Expects The Spanish Inquisition**

After a cooling off period – right at two days, as David had predicted – Blaine returned to rehearsals.

(David had actually instructed Blaine to stay away from rehearsals under penalty of death. "You need a break. I don't want to hear it. Stay out or I will _harm you_, Anderson, I swear I will.")

He wholeheartedly embraced the plan of treating the alumni fundraiser as an audition for next year's lead soloist position. "Are you kidding? Yes. Absolutely. Please. You all know I've been lobbying for this for a while."

To the Council's surprise and gratitude, he even suggested an additional number that had Thad, Wes, and David trading off leads, as a farewell. "They're leaving us," pointed out the tenor sensibly, with a little catch in his voice. "They're our true leaders. And they've either never sung lead or haven't done so in a long time...I just think it would be a nice thing to do, give them that opportunity." The others agreed with him, and they also agreed with the notion of intensive, around the clock rehearsals.

Blaine had been mobbed in hugs and congenial backslaps by all of his fellow Warblers as soon as he'd entered the rehearsal hall, even though they'd all seen him in class or around the campus. Holly understood; classmates were classmates, but the Warblers were a brotherhood, plain and simple. Things were different in this room.

She noticed, too, that the lead singer seemed simultaneously more relieved and more strung out than ever, and she wondered how that even _worked_. At least he looked like he'd slept a little, and the other boys were plying him with food and drink to the point of exasperation. That was something. Since she figured he was unlikely to confide in her anytime soon, she let it go and trusted the others to take care of him for now. There were bigger things to worry about.

For example, it was Thursday now, and the fundraiser was Saturday night. Holly still had not managed to corner the Headmaster to talk to him. This was bad. Either way, the Warblers were going to forge ahead with the concert they had put together, but she had really wanted to give Lesson One an honest shot, for the sake of principle. And not getting fired.

So when she came back from refilling her water bottle in Dunstable Hall's kitchenette and saw Dr. Michaelson making a beeline for the rehearsal room where she'd left the Warblers bouncing off the walls to Flint's enthusiastic rendition of the Spin Doctors' 'Two Princes,' who could blame Holly for succumbing to both panic and elation and beginning to sprint down the hall in her high heeled boots?

She had to stop him. He did not need to see what was going on in there before she could convince him to come up with the idea for it in the first place. "Dr. Michaelson! Headmaster! Dr. Michaelsoooooooooooh boy."

With a thrill of horror, she felt her boots begin to slip – really? The cleaning staff had to pick last night to buff and wax the floors? - just as she caught up to the Headmaster. Fortunately for his safety and her dignity, the man was quick enough to snag her by the elbows, narrowly avoiding a painful collision.

"Why, Miss Holliday, fancy running into you here." Dr. Michaelson's eyes were bright with suppressed laughter as he helped her regain her balance.

They were three doors down from the rehearsal room; the boys had probably heard Holly's shouting and could easily figure out what was going on. All the same, she pulled out her phone to surreptitiously send a quick text blast to the Council.

(Message From Ms. H: _The eagle flies at midnight!_)

"I could say the same to you," she returned merrily, putting on her very best charming smile. "This isn't really your normal neighborhood, Headmaster."

(Message From Thad Lawrence: _That's the code phrase for "Tomorrow's pizza day in the dining hall," right?_)

(Message From David Hardwick: _I really don't know why you can't just say, "The Headmaster's coming" like a normal person would, Ms. H._)

(Message From Wesley Fletcher: _The foxes are out of the chicken coop. Over._)

"Oh, I know. I just thought I'd check in and see how the boys were doing. Mr. Anderson in particular. Headlining such an important alumni event is quite a bit of pressure."

Seriously? _Seriously? _She'd been racking her brain for two days trying to find the ideal way to bring up the switching scheme to the Headmaster. And here he was right there in front of her just handing her the perfect opening on a silver platter. Damn it. Holly liked Dr. Michaelson, but sometimes she felt like he just sucked the fun out of _everything_ without even breaking a sweat.

No, it had not escaped her notice that relief and irritation were contrary emotions.

"It is stressful," she agreed, speaking slowly while her mind raced to work out how to best coerce him into agreeing with her. She'd spent so much time planning how to broach the subject to him at all that she hadn't...actually...planned through to the interval, much less endgame.

Well. Didn't she feel silly. Good thing flying by the seat of her pants was a skill in which Holly Holliday took particular pride.

"He's such an asset to the Academy," the Headmaster stated, pride clear in his voice. "He's an exemplary student, an excellent singer, a born leader. Once we get him through his little rebellious phase and over the hump of the Appeals Board meeting, he's going to be one of our shining stars."

_Ah-ha. _A plan unfolded in her mind like a blooming flower – perfect, perfect, _perfect_. Sending a quick and silent apology up the hall to the tenor that she was about to throw under the bus, she assumed a solemn expression and nodded her head. "He really is such a great kid. I just hope it's not _too_ much pressure for him. Poor guy."

Dr. Michaelson looked concerned. "Is something the matter with Mr. Anderson?"

She allowed a bit more sadness to creep over her face. "He's just looked so tired since I met him, and the boys say he hasn't been eating. I have to say, I'm a little worried."

"Oh, dear, Miss Holliday. I don't like hearing this."

"And I don't like telling you, but I just can't keep it from you just two days before the event," Holly shook her head, the very picture of earnest, teacherly worry. She'd learned it from Will. "I'm really concerned that between schoolwork, preparing for the appeal, and getting ready for the fundraiser, he's making himself ill. But he won't say anything. You know Blaine, he's just so darn tenacious." She thought about adding a sort of 'go get 'em' fist pump, but decided that might be a little too much. The Headmaster was already looking like she'd just told him someone had run over his puppy.

"Well, I don't mind telling you, Miss Holliday, that this is bad news." He was shaking his head. "Very bad news indeed. Do you think the Warblers will have to pull out of the fundraiser? We really don't have time to replace them."

_Careful, careful, be careful, don't lay it all out too blatantly._ "I hope not. We do have an understudy, I just hate to put an entire concert on Thad's shoulders at such short notice since he's studying for his graduation exit exams. Normally it wouldn't be a problem if the one lead couldn't perform...I guess it's just a storm of bad timing."

"It would seem so." A fretful look passed over Dr. Michaelson's face. "Oh, this is just terrible, Miss Holliday. Surely we can think of a solution. I need the Warblers at that fundraiser. They're the crown jewel of the school's extracurricular programs."

Thinking a little more quickly now that she'd planted the seeds of concern, Holly patted the Headmaster on his shoulder. "Why don't you come see them practice, like you planned, and we'll decide after they do a number?" Surreptitiously, she thumbed another text message to the Council while Dr. Michaelson was lost in thought.

(Message From Ms. H: _Choo-choo!_)

(Message From Thad Lawrence: _Excellent. Pizza day rocks._)

(Message From David Hardwick: _Yes, Ms. H, Blaine is ready and waiting to show off on 'Hey, Soul Sister' for the Headmaster._)

(Message From Wesley Fletcher: _The Express from Toledo is traveling at 80 mph. Over._)

(Message From Ms. H: _David, make sure he blows the performance. No time to explain. Tell him to act like he's under a LOT of stress._)

(Message From David Hardwick: _See? It wasn't so hard to send a text message like a normal person, now was it?_)

(Message From David Hardwick: _Also, where have YOU been the last few days? It's not an act._)

Tucking her phone away, she looked up at the Headmaster, who was gazing up the hallway at the rehearsal room doors like he could _will_ the strength to go on to Blaine. She put her hand on his arm again. "Headmaster? Would you like to come see the boys practice?"

He started. "Yes! Oh yes, of course." He extended his arm graciously, and she slipped her hand through it, smiling as they started off again. "I'm sure it will all be fine. Mr. Anderson came here under very stressful circumstances last year, and adapted very well to Dalton's policies and traditions in a short amount of time. It's almost as if he were born to it!"

"Really?"

"Yes. I can't really discuss the specifics, of course, that would be unethical. Suffice it to say that there were some very difficult issues at his prior school that necessitated an emergency mid-year transfer. That's not something we allow very often. But he did very well in his entrance interviews, tested _exceptionally_ well on the exam, and his record is impeccable. We'd have been fools to turn him away."

"I see." _Poor kid_, she thought. Of course she'd heard a little about Blaine's past during his angry outburst on Monday and knew it was pretty bad, but she hadn't had any idea that things had reached emergency status at his old school. Now he was under pressure to live up to the potential Dalton had seen in him. No wonder he'd finally snapped.

They arrived at the double doors to the hall; Holly reclaimed her hand and pushed one of them open, causing the boys to look up at their entrance. She noticed they were all gathered around one of the couches looking sober and worried.

"Good afternoon, boys," the Headmaster greeted them jovially, though not without concern. "I've come by to see how everything's shaping up for the fundraiser!"

"Everything is great, sir." Wes gave a quick head nod by way of greeting himself. "May I say, it's wonderful to see you here."

Dr. Michaelson clapped him on the shoulder. "Likewise, Mr. Fletcher." A consummate professional educator, he uttered nothing of his worry. "It's always a pleasure to visit the Warblers." He looked around the room, and Holly could see he was trying to find a way to nonchalantly bring up the subject in which he was most interested. In the end, he went for the direct approach. "Where's that fine lead singer of yours? I hope he's in tip-top shape for this important event!"

Wes cleared his throat, and when he was able to speak again, it was not without nervousness. "He's definitely here, Headmaster, working hard right alongside the rest of us."

The Headmaster craned his head around, looking at each of the boys in turn. In a tone that brooked no argument, he spoke. "I don't see him." Unspoken was, _And you'd better produce him, quick._

The boys looked at each other. They looked at Holly. After a moment or two, everyone shrugged, then parted, revealing that they'd been standing guard over Blaine, who looked up at Holly and Dr. Michaelson with a face like a man standing on the edge.

If Holly hadn't instructed him to do exactly this, she would have been deeply alarmed. As it was, when Dr. Michaelson finally broke his horrified gaze away from the seemingly unstable teenager on the leather couch and focused on Wes again, she nearly completely lost her mind trying not to laugh at the knowing wink Blaine aimed at her. He was having far, far too much fun with this, she could see it already.

"Mr. Anderson," the Headmaster was speaking in hushed tones, as if trying not to disturb the boy. "Are you quite all right?"

Blaine shrugged. He said nothing.

"He's a little tired, that's all." David's tone was defensive. "He'll be fine."

"This does not look _fine_, Mr. Hardwick. Not in the slightest." Dr. Michaelson crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the entire singing group.

"It is, though, really." Nick was earnest. "I room with him, Headmaster Michaelson. A little more sleep than he's been getting and he'll be in great shape for Saturday. We're going to be fantastic, don't worry."

"A _little_ sleep?" Now the Headmaster was incredulous, and Holly kind of couldn't blame him. The boys were all laying it on a bit thick. "He looks like I need to send him to the infirmary for a week!"

"It's _all fine_," Blaine gritted out, speaking for the first time, and his voice was both steady and strained. "Let's prove it. We'll do a number." Getting to his feet, he smoothed his hands down the front of his blazer and fixed a flat stare onto Dr. Michaelson. "Would that be permissible?"

"I would insist on it before I clear you to perform," snapped the Headmaster. Blaine nodded curtly in return and signaled the other singers to get moving.

The group arranged themselves in neat rows by the fireplace and proceeded to sing the most listless, dirgelike rendition of 2010's happiest pop song that Holly had ever heard. Correction: the Warblers cheerfully bopped and doo-wopped their way through it. Blaine sang as if he were performing at a funeral.

Holly had to all but eat her fist to keep herself from laughing. Headmaster Michaelson looked distinctly less amused. He looked like he was ten seconds from a towering rage. Blaine glanced at Holly, mouthing, _Too much_? With a tiny grin, the teacher pinched her fingers together to indicate, _Maybe a little_.

When the boys finished, Blaine assumed a challenging expression and faced the Headmaster with no little defiance. "See? We're fine."

"No. No, _you_ are not." Dr. Michaelson's face was flushing pink and was on its way to purple. "I cannot have you leading an entire concert in front of our alumni, not in the shape you appear to be in. I'm tempted to pull you all from the fundraiser." At the immediate protests of the boys and Holly, he raised his hands to silence them. "I cannot do that. There is no time – though if there were, you'd better believe I'd do it. But I also can't have Mr. Lawrence leading the whole thing either, not on just two days notice while he's preparing for his senior exams."

"What can we do, then, Headmaster? The boys have worked so hard." Holly's voice was layered with concern that was more genuine than she'd expected to feel. Someone was going to seriously have to teach these kids the art of subtlety. The Headmaster was absolutely _furious_, and that was not how this was supposed to go.

"You're all singers. Excellent ones. You wouldn't be in this room if you weren't." He looked at all of them, assessing them. "You have two days to come up with a program that limits Mr. Anderson's participation as much as possible, while not putting too much work on any single one of you. And it had better be showstopping. Miss Holliday, a word?"

"Of course." She followed the Headmaster out to the hallway, closing the doors behind them. "I'm sorry, Dr. Michaelson."

"You should be." His mouth was tight as he faced the substitute. "I asked you to keep the boys in line, keep an eye on them. You should have seen a week ago that Mr. Anderson was not doing well, and that Mr. Lawrence should have been practicing to lead instead. I'm not happy about having to break tradition to get this concert off the ground."

Yep. The boys had _definitely_ overplayed it. Once this show was over with, she was going to have words with them about subtlety. "You're absolutely correct, and I apologize."

"I understand this is a temporary position, but we have put the care and safety of our boys into your hands based on your reputation and recommendations. Letting us down is not only a disappointment, it's harmful to our students, and I won't have that, Miss Holliday. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly." She should have been angry at the boys for putting her into this position, but frankly the whole thing had been far, _far _too hilarious for that, and besides, it didn't sound like she was getting fired, so whatever. "We will get everything together, and I will be more aware of how the boys are doing."

Abruptly, the Headmaster smiled. "I know you will. I just had to throw a little fear of God into you." He winked as Holly stared at him. "But I hope you do understand that I expect an exemplary performance this weekend. And for it to never have to be repeated again. Good afternoon, Miss Holliday."

He left her in the hallway, where she stood thinking for long moments after he disappeared. Making inroads into quietly loosening up Dalton was a maddening business, she decided, and now the Headmaster had pretty much just made it a challenge, which mean that she sort of _had_ to keep going with it.

Okay, well, she didn't _have_ to, but she was _going _to, damn it. Nodding decisively to herself, Holly turned and strode with authority back into the rehearsal room.

"All right, boys," the teacher called briskly, sliding herself up onto her usual table. "Three days, two nights to go, and we got what we wanted." The boys all cheered and high-fived each other, even Blaine, who was looking more engaged in his life than he had in over a week. Interesting. "I'm a little concerned with the level of insanity you managed to dredge up in just a few minutes, but that can be dealt with later."

"It could have been worse. Jeff wanted to go through your bag and see if you had any makeup we could use to exaggerate the circles under Blaine's eyes," Flint volunteered. "We stopped him."

"And David wanted to mess up my hair to add verisimilitude," confessed Blaine. "I told him I'd rather not."

"You threatened to tear _my_ hair out at the _roots _if I touched it, Anderson," David howled.

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other." The tenor was blasé in his amusement. "That was actually a lot of fun. I never thought I'd ever deliberately throw a performance, much less enjoy doing it."

"Yeah, you're a little scary, kid." Holly shook her head ruefully. "I could have used you as a reader when I was teaching 'Hamlet' in Wapakoneta last year. You'd make a fantastic Ophelia."

Blaine raised a finger, opened his mouth to protest, visibly changed his mind, and shut up. Holly felt that this was a wise decision on his part.

"Now we have to make it indisputably terrific. Time for one last number before break – Nick, you're up."

Nick and Jeff exchanged a high five before the darker haired boy shoved off away from the couch he was leaning against, snapping his fingers and beginning to sing.

_How sweet it is to be loved by you  
>How sweet it is to be loved by you<br>_

The rest of the boys joined in, basses creating a wordless, sonorous cushion under the shifting surface of the tenors and baritones.

_I needed the shelter of someone's arms and there you were  
>I needed someone to understand my ups and downs and there you were<br>With sweet love and devotion  
>Deeply touching my emotion<br>I want to stop _

Nick thrust one hand out before him in a stopping motion and winked flirtatiously at Holly.

_And thank you baby  
>I just want to stop and thank you baby, yes I do<br>_

Blaine and Jeff joined in with harmony on the chorus.

_How sweet it is to be loved by you  
>How sweet it is to be loved by you<em>

_I close my eyes at night_  
><em>Wondering where would I be without you in my life<em>  
><em>Everything I did was just a bore<em>  
><em>Everywhere I went it seems I'd been there before<em>  
><em>But you brighten up for me all of my days<em>

Now Nick skidded across the floor and extended a hand to Holly, who hopped down off her perch and laughingly allowed the teenager to sweep her into a rollicking dance as he sang on.

_With a love so sweet in so many ways  
>I want to stop and thank you baby<br>I just want to stop _

He twirled and dipped the teacher and winked again as she laughed herself breathless.

_And thank you baby, whoa yes_

_How sweet it is to be loved by you_

_It's just like sugar sometimes_

_How sweet it is to be loved by you_

_Whoa, yeah_

_You were better to me than I was to myself_

Nick released Holly and began to step and sway again with the rest of the boys. This was one of their favorite numbers out of the ones they'd picked from the archives, and it showed. They sang with nothing but pure joy.

_For me, there's you and there ain't nobody else  
>I want to stop and thank you baby<br>I just want to stop and thank you baby, oh yes_

_How sweet it is to be loved by you_  
><em>How sweet it is to be loved by you<em>

_How sweet it is to be loved by you_

_It's like jelly, baby_

_How sweet it is to be loved by you_

_Just like honey to the bee, babe_

_How sweet it is to be loved by you_

_I just wanna...stop!_

Holly burst into applause while the boys jostled and grinned, clearly pleased with themselves. "Nick, that was beyond excellent," Blaine complimented his roommate while slapping him on the shoulder. "You're going to bring the house down."

"It sounds great. It looks great." Holly was grinning from ear to ear. "You guys are _awesome_. I never doubted you could pull this off. But!" She held up her finger in caution. "We still have tonight, tomorrow afternoon and evening, plus Saturday afternoon to rehearse, so no slacking. Go get dinner and I'll see you back here in an hour and a half." The Warblers began to gather up their books and satchels. "Blaine, talk to me a sec?"

He was taken aback, blinking for a moment before nodding. "Um, yeah. No problem, Miss Holliday." The other boys filed out of the room, talking excitedly amongst themselves about the show. "What's going on?"

"I just wanted to thank you for coming back to rehearsal. The boys missed you over two days and to be honest, so did I." The teacher smiled at him warmly as she gathered up a stack of geography essays and tucked them into her bag. "I know we don't know each other well at all, but so far I think you're a great kid and a fantastic lead singer. Oh, speaking of. I want to apologize for kind of putting you on the spot with Dr. Michaelson."

"No problem." Blaine couldn't help but chuckle. "That really was fun. I wasn't kidding. And..." He wandered off in thought, briefly. "...I do think it's good to have multiple soloists. I've brought that up to the guys before, for Regionals. They indulged me then, to a point. I think they're starting to see the benefits of it, though, and that's down to you. So thank _you_ for basically backing me up, even though you didn't know you were doing it."

Holly playfully shoved him aside with her shoulder. "My pleasure, kid. I'm always glad to be helpful in the guise of causing trouble."

"I'm getting that." They grinned at each other in a moment of shared camaraderie, and Blaine realized he was starting to see what Rachel had meant about her. "Listen, Miss Holliday, I don't know if you have a lot of time, but...a friend of mine suggested I take you up on your offer of a friendly ear."

"I've got all the time you need," Holly responded immediately, putting her tote bag down and leaning against the table. She hadn't expected this but she wasn't about to rebuff him. "I thought you'd never ask." She smiled. "No. Really. I _literally_ thought you'd never ask. You're pretty walled off. Monday felt like it was out of character for you."

A diffident shrug from the tenor. "It is and it isn't. I guess I started putting up the walls when everything happened in Toledo. I've never fully dropped them. I didn't consider the possibility that I was _repressing_ myself and so..." He shrugged again. "I exploded."

"That's the most restrained explosion _I've_ ever seen." Holly looked at him thoughtfully. "The walls look like they're still pretty high. You're confiding in a virtual stranger, after all, not your friends."

"You'll be gone by the end of May." He exchanged another grin with the substitute, whom he could see understood what he meant by that. "Plus you're as close to an impartial party as I could possibly find. And Rachel said you had a way with unusual insights and solutions."

"Rachel? Wait – Rachel _Berry_?" At his nod of affirmation, Holly let out a peal of laughter. "I didn't know you two were friends. Amazing."

Blaine was smiling as he gazed down at his feet. "Yeah, well...she's one of Kurt's closest friends now, and we just get along really well."

"Hm. Wow. Small world, I guess. Anyway." She pushed herself back up onto the table that she liked. "We were going to talk about _you_."

"Oh. Um, yeah. Right. We were." He nodded and looked back up at her. "Okay. Well. Okay. So. You know I've been thinking of - "

It was right then that an unexpected and very inconvenient knock at the rehearsal hall doors startled both teacher and student, causing them to look up in surprise. Surprise that gave way to shock for Holly when her brain processed what she was seeing.

"Why didn't you tell me you were in Westerville, Holly?"

_Oh,_ thought Holly at the sight of Will Schuester, _isn't this just spec-goddamn-tacular._

_**Author's Note: **__And now I hope you understand why the title of this chapter is what it is and I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. Okay, not really, I'm still having gigglefits. Anyway, we all knew Holly's issues were going to come home to roost, didn't we?_

_Nick's song is "How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)," by James Taylor._


	9. Thursday, I Don't Care About You

**Miss Holliday Goes to Dalton**

_Hello, hello! Hope everyone's well. Let's just get to it: Glee does not belong to me, no matter how many wishes I make on however many thousands of stars. We're still in a timeline with "Born This Way," more or less; that's due to end after the next chapter, and then we move along to catch up with "Prom Queen." Bits of adult language here and there, no funny business._

_Oh, and I have a Livejournal now; I'm a_glass_parade on LJ. I don't know what I'll post there and I mostly got it so I could comment in the kurt_blaine community, but it's there._

**Chapter Eight – Thursday, I Don't Care About You**

Seeing her ex-boyfriend standing unexpectedly in a doorway at Dalton Academy, all Holly could think was, _Today is seriously screwing with me._

She took a deep breath and extended one arm to point past Will's shoulder. "Out."

"Holly, I - "

"_Out. Now._" She raised her eyebrows and pointed towards the door more emphatically. "You interrupted my conference with _my student._"

"Hello, Mr. Schuester." Blaine waved, clearly feeling awkward.

"Blaine." Will gave a small wave to the student and a curt nod to Holly. "Fine. I'll be outside."

She crossed her arms and nodded back, waiting until he had closed the doors behind him to sigh and roll her eyes. "Blaine, I'm so sorry. Do you want to - "

"Nah, I'm okay for now, Miss Holliday."

"You sure?" She searched his face, relaxing a little when he smiled at her.

"Yeah, no, it's fine. I mean, that guy? Just drove two hours to see you. So...raincheck?"

"You're on." Holly held up her fist; the tenor grinned as he raised his own back to bump it. Hitching his bag up over his shoulder, he threw a wave back as he left. "See you after dinner."

"See you."

Blaine hadn't even cleared the door before Will was hustling past him to get back inside. "Holly. We need - "

He didn't get any further before the substitute stalked across the room and jabbed a finger right into the middle of his chest. "Will Schuester, you had better have a fantastic reason for interrupting my conference with that student. And no," she asserted, jabbing a little harder into the striped acrylic blend of his sweater vest, "Being pissy that I didn't tell you I wasn't finishing out the year in Cleveland is not even a good excuse, let alone a fantastic one."

"Ow." Will glared at her as he rubbed the newly sore spots on his chest. "When did you get mean?"

"When did I tell you I was nice?" she countered. "Ugh. Never mind. Will, what are you _doing_ here?"

"I came to see you!"

"Yes, getting that, thank you. Why?"

"May I sit down?" He gestured towards one of the couches; Holly flapped her hand in exasperated acquiescence. Hitching up his trouser legs, the lanky McKinley Glee Advisor-slash-Spanish teacher settled himself into the dark brown leather and patted the seat next to him. "Wow, these are nice. I wish our choir room was furnished. Join me?"

Standing hipshot and arms wrapped around her waist, Holly shook her head. "I'll stand, thanks. How did you even find out I was here?"

"I overheard Kurt talking to Blaine on the phone yesterday."

"So you were eavesdropping."

"No, I was passing by Kurt after Glee and he happened to be at the part of his conversation where he said, and I quote, 'I still can't believe Miss Holliday is your Advisor. That is so bizarre.' There's only one person not at McKinley that Kurt calls at that time on a daily basis. Wasn't hard to put the pieces together."

"Okay, you know his telephone schedule and you stood there long enough for that whole sentence? That's eavesdropping." Holly paused. "Also creepy."

"No! Come on, Holly. It was an accident." He put on the wounded puppy face that she usually found endearing, but right at this moment in her irritation she thought it was annoying. Plus his chin was just stupid today. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why was I supposed to? We haven't spoken in a month. I said I'd get in touch the next time I was teaching in Lima. This is Westerville. I know you teach Spanish and not Geography, but as an Ohio native, I did expect you to know that Westerville and Lima aren't exactly neighbors."

"Harsh."

"Irritated." She relented and flopped down on the opposite end of the couch from Will, throwing her hands into the air as she landed. "Look, Will, I'm sorry. But you interrupted a conference with a student who had only just begun to open up to me. It was kind of important."

"With Blaine? What's going on?" He assumed that teacherly concern look that she knew so well.

"Uh-uh. He's not your student – you know I can't tell you anything."

"He's _dating_ one of my students. If it's something that will affect Kurt, I think I have a right to know."

"Sorry, no. Even if I could tell you, I wouldn't. You'd do your helpful teacher meddling thing, and...no." Lacing her fingers together, Holly rested her hands against her eyes. "Besides, I want to know what brought you here, and I only have a little over an hour before the boys come back for the second half of rehearsal. Talk, Schuester."

"You're pulling all night rehearsals outside of competition season? Why?"

"Will." She lifted her right hand up so she could aim a one-eyed glare at her former fling. "You're stalling."

"Yeah." He sighed, leaning over his knees in that way that he did when he was trying to figure out where to begin. She watched out of the corner of her eye as his hands flexed and gripped at nothing while he thought. Just as she was about to ask him what it was about the marble flooring that he found so fascinating, he spoke again. "I am. It's just...I've got a big problem, Holly."

Words rushed out before she could stop them. "No offense, Will, but your life is pretty much one big problem all of the _time._"

He turned his head to look at her, hurt written all over his face. "You know, I thought we parted on more or less friendly terms – and that _you_ dumped _me._"

Point to Will. "You're right, you're right. I'm sorry." Dropping her hands from her eyes, she pushed up out of her reclining position. "I've been here for right about two weeks, and...stress is contagious here. I'm totally spending the summer at that sweat lodge in Kalispell."

"That bad?"

"You try teaching in a prep school. It's a whole different ball of wax." With a brush of linen on leather, Holly shifted so that her back was propped up against the far arm of the couch and she was facing Will's profile. "Quit deflecting. Will you _please_ tell me what's going on, since you hunted me down and drove two hours to get here?"

"Are you going to refrain from insulting me?"

She held up her hands in a gesture of peace. "I am a paragon of grace and virtue."

Will let out a snort. "Gonna let that one slide." Letting out a sigh that seemed dragged up from his feet, he dropped his head and mumbled, "I'm going to Broadway."

"I'd hope so. You're going to New York for Nationals, I think it's an arrestable offense if you don't take in a show." Holly yawned and curled one leg under her butt, swinging the other one back and forth along the floor. The swishing sound of boot soles on marble filled the room. This is what he'd come to tell her?

"No, I'm going to be _on_ Broadway. Performing."

She couldn't have heard that correctly. "No way."

"Yeah. I'm in a Broadway show, Holly."

"Wow." She didn't know what else to say. It seemed so unlikely. She had always thought Will was more firmly rooted in Ohio than any one of the state's ubiquitous buckeye trees.

"One of my old classmates – I think I told you about her, April Rhodes? She's written this musical about her life which is...well. Colorful."

"I seem to remember hearing a lot of things about her," Holly mused. "Nothing reputable – and when it's me saying that..."

Will chuckled. "Yeah. So anyway, she came to me, asked me to help her finish it up and the next thing I know, she was asking me to go with her to New York to stage it."

"That's awesome, Will." She leaned over and gave her ex an affectionate punch in the arm. "Go you. So when do you leave?"

"I'm going to Nationals with the kids, and I stay behind afterwards. So in about three weeks."

"So soon." She blinked, a little taken aback. "Have you packed up your apartment?"

"Emma's helping me work on that."

"Oh." _Awkward._ Holly had dumped Will for several reasons, but a big one had been to clear his way to the doe-eyed guidance counselor he'd never really gotten over. There was a very small part of her that still smarted a tiny bit over that – the same part that had convinced her to break up with him before he could do it to her. "She's so organized, I'm surprised it's still an ongoing process."

He laughed softly. "Yeah. She is pretty incredible."

_Nice_. She shoved at Will's leg with her free foot, leaving a dusty print on his trousers. "Manners, please. Even if your ex _is_ the one who did the dumping, it's not polite to be all gooey about your new lady in front of her. At least not until a six month post breakup period has passed."

"Oh, God, Holly, I'm sorry. I'm an idiot."

She let the opportunity to agree with him pass. "Eh. I'm teasing. Turnabout's fair play after the two shots I got off."

"Fair enough." Will was staring at his hands again. "You know, that's another thing. Emma and I...we're not together."

She drew back, startled. "What?"

"We're not together. Not yet, I guess...maybe not ever. I don't know, Holly. She's dealing with her issues, I'm going to New York. I personally think the show will close in a matter of weeks, but what if it doesn't? It's not fair to keep her waiting in Ohio."

"What the – what, you've never heard of the internet? Or phones? Lots of people do long distance relationships, Will. That's a cop-out."

"No, it isn't!" The McKinley teacher was open-mouthed in astonishment. "It's the truth. I don't want to string Emma along while I figure out my life. She's got enough on her plate."

It was rather mean – Sue Sylvester levels of mean - of Holly to wonder if all his hair had rooted in his brain and was arresting all logical thought, but she didn't care. At least she had the impulse control not to say it out loud. "Yeah, and you don't think she could use a nice supportive boyfriend while she deals with it, even if he's several hours away?"

"She needs a support system that can be by her side! I'm sure she feels the same way."

"Did you ask her?" She tossed her hair back over her shoulder, glaring as she waited for his answer. When it came in the form of a negative headshake, she lunged across the sofa. This time, her punch to Will's arm was less affectionate and he howled out in pain. "You're right, Will. You _are_ an idiot."

"Jeez, Holly!" The Spanish teacher rubbed his arm as he stared at her, bewildered. "What's gotten into you?"

"How long have you been mooning over that woman?" Grabbing a throw pillow, she began swatting him with it. "She ended up ending her _marriage_ over you, a marriage to an extremely hot and well-off dentist, I might add. And you just – don't – do – anything!" She punctuated each word with a blow from the pillow. "Ending her marriage? It never even got _started_ because of you. You are the most thoughtless man alive."

Will shoved his ex-girlfriend off of him and shot up from the couch like he'd been launched. "I am not! I'm being considerate!"

"You're being a coward!" She jumped up as well, and now they were on opposite ends of the couch, shouting at each other.

"Her marriage just ended! You said so yourself! What do you think I am, some kind of jerk who moves in on vulnerable women?"

Holly was not _even_ going to touch that with a ten foot pole. "What you are, Will Schuester, is as emotionally stunted as a ten year old. I've got students in more functional relationships than you've ever been in."

"Oh, wise words coming from you, the woman whose longest relationship was five dates! You have zero room to talk!"

"At least I know what I want." The thumping of her heels echoed around the room as she strode over to push at his shoulder. "At least I'm capable of emotional honesty. At least I can make decisions. I've got a lot of at leasts, you want to hear more of them?"

Fury was all over Will's face as he glared down at her. "I think I've heard enough. This was a mistake." Turning, he began to make his way to the door, stopping in his tracks as Holly's voice rang out across the sudden stillness of the room.

"Why did you _really_ come here, Will?"

He stopped, hands balled into fists at his sides. "It doesn't matter."

"Like hell it doesn't. You drove all the way here and you're mad enough at something to allow yourself to be dragged into an argument. Why?"

He was silent so long that she began to think he'd never reply. "No one wants me to stay."

"Sorry?"

"No one wants me to stay. Everyone's telling me to go. Sue I expected, but Terri, Shannon, even Emma – they're all telling me to go. No one has told me they want me to stay."

Holly's eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline as his words took the angry wind right out of her sails. "And, what, you thought I - of all people - would be the one to do it?"

He shrugged, still not turning to face her. "It was a long shot."

"_Yeah_, it was." She folded her arms, looking off into a far corner as she thought of what she could say. "Will, you know no one's telling you to go because they just want you gone, right? I mean, except for Sue. You do know that?"

"I do know that. I just thought it would be nice if there was one person who said, 'No, Will. Don't go.'"

"How misguidedly and naively romantic of you." Holly shook her head ruefully. "I'd tell you to lose your pie-eyed optimism, but you know, it's kind of cute. Useless, but cute."

"If you're just going to be a bi - "

"Okay." She cut him off before he could finish the word that would be guaranteed to set her off again. "No, Will. Don't go."

He turned back to look at her, confused. "What?'

"Don't go." She shrugged, waved a hand carelessly. "Don't go to New York and chase your dream of being on Broadway. Don't leave your tiny little hometown in Ohio to move to the most exciting city in the world. Don't haul yourself out of the wreckage of your marriage and explore a new beginning. Don't do anything but sit around your apartment eating pizza and drinking beer and grading Spanish quizzes until you die, having never left Lima, Ohio."

The look on his face was dazed. "Holly, I don't - "

"Exactly. You don't. Not ever." Now that the fire of anger had drained away out of both of them, she slipped up next to him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "As a friend, Will – I don't want to see you become so complacent in your life that you not only never chase a single one of your dreams, you never once regret not doing so. You're too good for that."

Will shook his head, a ghost of a smile beginning to form. "Do you always know the right thing to say?"

She smirked. "It's true that I am in fact that good, yes."

"Never change, Holly." He pulled her into a hug and rested his chin on her hair. "Thanks. For everything you said, even when it was harsh. I may not have wanted to hear it, but I sure needed to."

"I know. You're welcome." Squirming her hands up between them, she pushed back a little so she could look up at him and smile. "I'm sorry things didn't work out for us. I'm glad we can be friends, though. I mean, even if we do go from agreement to arguing in sixty seconds."

"Oh, that just makes things eventful." Will was suddenly looking down at Holly with a look in his eyes that she was pretty sure she recognized. Sure enough, when she tried to back up, his hands tightened on her arms and he pulled her closer. Oh, great.

"No, no, no. No way, Will." She shoved back harder, twisting out of his grip. "I'm not the one you want, and I'm absolutely not going to settle for being the one you're with."

"Come on, Holly. Not even one little kiss just to see if the spark's still there?' He stepped forward to take her by the elbow and tried to draw her closer.

"Nope." She tugged her arm back out of his grip and skidded across the floor to put some distance between them. "You're caught up in the passion of the argument and gratitude that I didn't give you pithy crap about staying in Ohio." _And presumably_, she thought rather pettily, _frustration from being no closer to dating Emma the Pure and Chaste than you were when I left you._

"You're going to tell me you're not affected by that passion at all?"

Holly rolled her eyes. Will attempting to be macho was ridiculous. "Believe it or not, no, Will, arguing with my ex-boyfriends when they're being stupid has never really tempted me to fall back into bed with them."

That deflated him a bit, she could see, but he tried to rally. "You really can be mean sometimes." His smile tried to cover his hurt feelings.

"Only when it's deserved." The smile vanished. "Go _home_, Will. Talk to Emma. Pack up your apartment. And - " A thought occurred to her. "Talk to the kids."

"What?"

"Talk to the kids. New Directions. I bet you haven't, and you should since this affects them too. Besides," she went on, flashing a knowing smile at him, "if anyone's going to ask you to stay, it'll be them...so if that's something you really, actually want, talk to the kids, Will."

Will ducked his head and let that ghost of a smile come back. "Yeah. You're right."

"Not always, but pretty frequently, yes. In this case, _definitely._"

Silence stretched between them for a long time before he bobbed his head in a nod and turned to really go. "Thanks, Holly. Really. It was nice seeing you."

"You too, Will. Drive safely."

And then he was gone, out the doors, closing them behind him with a soft click and a last sad smile. Holly sagged against the desk she'd ended up by and let a sigh of relief mingled with irritation escape. "That man," she announced to no one in particular, "could make Mother Theresa want to slug him." She hoped it was the last time she'd see him for a while whether or not he went to New York; if he was still that confused over his feelings, she wanted no part of it.

A quick glance at her watch revealed she still had about fifteen minutes before the boys were due back. With a decisive push, she was up and striding over to where she'd left her tote bag, digging in it to pull out her iPod. Three days after coming to Dalton and seeing the ancient cassette player the Warblers had in the rehearsal room, she'd dragged her own little portable stereo up to the school and installed it on one of the mahogany bookshelves. It had an iPod dock, into which she slotted her little device and clicked through it to find the track she wanted.

When Holly and Will had canceled their duet for the Night of Neglect benefit, she'd narrowed her solo choices down to two songs, both clearly intending to send her boyfriend an unmistakable message. In the end she'd gone for letting Will down with a gentle drop rather than a nasty bump and had sung 'Turning Tables.' Tonight was one of those times when she wished she'd gone for her other choice, since Will was prone to moments of complete thick-skulledness when it came to women.

She clicked play and began to pace the room in a prowling stalk as she sang.

_Oh, oh oh oh  
><em>_Oh, oh oh oh  
><em>_Oh, oh oh oh  
><em>_Oh, oh oh oh_

_Keep drinking coffee, stare me down across the table  
>While I look outside<br>So many things I'd say if only I were able  
>But I just keep quiet and count the cars that pass by<em>

_You've got opinions, man_  
><em>We're all entitled to 'em<em>  
><em>But I never asked<em>

Impulse led her to scoot up and dance on the Council table, where she'd leave scuff marks the cleaning staff would agonize over for days, wondering when those crazy boys had stopped confining their furniture hopping to the more easily cleaned and repaired leather sofas.

_So let me thank you for your time_  
><em>And try not to waste any more of mine<em>  
><em>Get out of here fast<em>

_I hate to break it to you babe  
>But I'm not drowning<br>There's no one here to save_

There was a couch at the left end of the table; carefully, she stepped down onto the arm, then the seat cushions, and then bounced to the floor, using the momentum to slide across the marble and start circling the room as she belted out the chorus.

_Who cares if you disagree?  
><em>_You are not me  
><em>_Who made you king of anything?  
><em>_So, you dare tell me who to be  
><em>_Who died and made you king of anything?_

_Oh..._

_You sound so innocent_  
><em>All full of good intent<em>  
><em>Swear you know best<em>

She sang as if Will could hear and understand what she had to say, sang everything she'd held inside in her efforts to let him down easily. She'd been nice – he wasn't a bad guy and she wasn't a mean person. But sometimes, just sometimes she wished she'd been a little more blunt, a little more clear, that she'd been able to get past his aw-shucks demeanor and be more truthful.

It's just that it wasn't Holly's _job_ to help Will Schuester grow up.

_But you expect me to_  
><em>Jump up on board with you and<em>  
><em>Ride off into your delusional sunset<em>

_I'm not the one who's lost_  
><em>With no direction, oh<em>  
><em>But you'll never see<em>

_You're so busy making masks_  
><em>With my name on them in all caps<em>  
><em>You've got the talking down<em>  
><em>Just not the listening<em>

_And who cares if you disagree?  
><em>_You are not me  
><em>_Who made you king of anything?  
><em>_So you dare tell me who to be  
><em>_Who died and made you king of anything?_

Holly passed the floor to ceiling windows and glanced out at the swiftly falling darkness as she came to the bridge.

_All my life I've tried_  
><em>To make everybody happy while I just hurt and hide<em>  
><em>Waiting for someone to tell me it's my turn<em>  
><em>To decide<em>

Back up on the council table, now she hopped from there to a couch to another table and another couch, traveling the furniture filled room like a kid playing Lava Flow, clapping rhythmically along to the track and dancing like no one was watching – which as far as she knew, was exactly the case.

She didn't notice that one of the double doors wasn't securely closed anymore.

_Who cares if you disagree?  
><em>_You are not me  
><em>_Who made you king of anything?  
><em>_So you dare tell me who to be  
><em>_Who died and made you king of anything?_

_Oh, who cares if you disagree?  
><em>_You are not me  
><em>_Who made you king of anything?  
><em>_So you dare tell me who to be  
><em>_Who died and made you king of anything?_

_Let me hold your crown, babe_

_Ooh ooh, ooh_

_Ah..._

Holly came to a spinning stop in the middle of the room, dropping her arms and her head as she finished. She felt tired and aggravated, and if it weren't for the fact that the Warblers really needed one more run through of the concert setlist for the night, she'd cancel the second rehearsal and go home to have a good stiff drink.

She wasn't aware that not long after she'd begun, Wes and Blaine had arrived back early from dinner to discuss the farewell number with her. When they heard the music pouring out of the room, they hadn't interrupted – only cracked the door a tiny bit so they could see and hear better, Blaine whispering to Wes about what little he knew about the situation between the two Advisors he'd left on the verge of a nasty argument.

Now that their own Advisor had finished singing, the tenor and the Council leader stood staring wide-eyed at each other, unsure how to process what they'd just heard. The substitute teacher had let the Warblers know in no uncertain terms that she thought they needed her help; Wes and Blaine wondered now if there was a part of Holly Holliday that could use an assist from the Warblers as well.

**_Author's Note:_**_ I really do wish they'd gotten Holly to sing that; I think Gwyneth would have killed it. Anyway, that's "King of Anything" by Sara Bareilles._


	10. Shindig

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_Welcome back! I needed to take some time out of this 'verse, and I hope that the one-shots I put up were enjoyed. The reviews and alerts that I received on this story and those are as always much appreciated. I love that people are interested in this._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, even if I say pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top. Spoilers...no spoilers really, I think, but we've at least budged the timeline up so that we're hovering between Rumours and Prom Queen. Rated T mostly because sometimes I can't control my language, but I think this chapter is pretty clean. Okey-dokey, onward!_

**Chapter Nine – Shindig**

"Mr. Pauling, tie." Holly tapped the sophomore on the shoulder as she passed by.

Jeff blushed to the roots of his hair. "Aw, crap, I knew I forgot something."

"I've got an extra one," Blaine volunteered, producing a length of blue and red satin seemingly out of nowhere, like a rabbit from a hat.

"What are you, some kind of Boy Scout?" The substitute shook her blonde head and laughed, giving the star tenor a friendly shoulder bump as she moved past him to inspect Trent. "Impeccable as usual, Mr. Davies." She patted his arm and beamed up at him. "Please stop looking like you just ate the seafood pasta special in the dining hall."

"I wish I had, if I'd gotten food poisoning I wouldn't have to do this." Trent's voice was strangled, and Holly lamented the illegality of giving a good stiff belt of whiskey to nervous teenage singers who were about to perform their first public solo. Left without that useful solution, she instead straightened his lapels, stuffed a peppermint into his mouth, and wound through the crowd to give a surprisingly catatonic-looking David a pep talk.

"Nick, where are your cufflinks? Come here." Blaine rummaged in his blazer pockets, coming up with a pair of the absent accessories and handing them to his roommate. He also found a travel size hair spray and a comb, which were passed off to Wes for a quick touch-up.

In this way, the teacher and the lead singer moved in tandem through the group of Warblers, getting them in order for the alumni fundraiser. According to Blaine, the boys weren't usually this scatterbrained; it was the prospect of solo performance that had all of them but Thad, Blaine, and Flint twitching with nerves. Thad and Blaine she'd understood, but Flint was a surprise, since he was as inexperienced as the rest of them. But when Holly had asked the laid-back junior why he wasn't nervous, he'd just shrugged and said that it wasn't as nervewracking as his upcoming AP Physics final, so there was no sense wigging out about it.

She supposed that was fair.

"If they'd just let go of that stupid tradition of 'one lead a year,' this would be a lot easier," Blaine had sniped on Friday after the second rehearsal, when the other boys had seemed to suddenly become aware that the songs they were having fun jamming on were actually being practiced for a fairly imminent reason. He was facing away from Holly, picking up the papers that he'd thrown around half in hopes that it would make the other guys laugh and half in exasperation at the mass freak out that had just occurred. "People would be prepared for emergencies. They wouldn't be terrified of singing solos in public. Dalton boys are supposed to be ready for anything, even I know that and I'm not a legacy like the rest of them."

Holly had thrown a wad of sheet music that hit him right in the back of the head. "Everyone can't be the star attraction of the King's Island Easter Holiday Hop-around," she'd admonished. "Everyone isn't thinking of this as anything more than an extracurricular credit. Not that you don't have a point. This school is doing these kids a disservice, and I'm going to do something about it."

A shiver of apprehension had snaked up Blaine's spine at those words. If he had learned nothing else about this woman from Kurt and Rachel, it was that she was both resourceful and determined. And that she'd played softball in college, apparently. He rubbed the spot she'd nailed with her paper ball absently, listening to Wes freak out about his farewell number with Thad and David as the Council leader obsessively combed his hair.

There hadn't been a chance for him to cash in his raincheck to resume their talk. There hadn't been time to _think_ in the last two days. It was all about stampeding to the finish line and hoping there wasn't a catastrophe along the way. Blaine was pretty sure they were all ready, if only they'd _quit spazzing out._

He was feeling fairly crazy as well, but of course that had nothing to do with the performance. Performing he could do in his sleep (and to hear Nick tell it, he did). No, Blaine's head was still full of decisions and choices and missing his boyfriend, who had been preoccupied all week with doing some kind of damage control for his friend Sam at McKinley. Damage control that he hadn't been able to fully explain, but promised to over their Sunday night Breadstix dinner date.

Kurt had hinted at bringing up some kind of important topic besides Sam over dinner as well, and was giving even fewer clues as to what _that_ was about. Blaine's nerves were already stretched thin; Kurt's playful attempts at surprise and subterfuge weren't helping.

And then there was whatever was going on with the Warblers' enigmatic interim Advisor. He and Wes had discussed what they had seen on Thursday, had tried to figure out if they should bring it to the attention of the others. A decision, however, had not been made. The discussion had had to be tabled when Wes realized he'd be singing in front of his parents in two days and subsequently went ten kinds of insane. Kind of like he was doing now.

"Blaine, are you even paying attention?" Wes' voice was as strained as Trent's, and Blaine resisted the urge to tweak his friend's nose, what with being uninterested in getting bludgeoned to death with a gavel at the tender age of seventeen and all. He elected instead to nod attentively and tug at the hem of his jacket.

"Of course I am. Come on, though, Fletch, there's no need to psych yourself out."

"Says you! My _mom_ is going to be out there."

Blaine shook his head. "Dude, your mom is like, five foot nothing. I don't get why you fear her so much. A mom is a mom."

"_Your _mom isn't Chinese," Wes retorted sourly. "_My _mom is ten feet of Shanghai terror in a five foot tall sack. You don't even know. You _can't _even know."

"Yeah. Gonna have to take your word for it." He decided to change the subject, returning to the topic of the previous day. "So, Miss Holliday..."

They glanced over their shoulders at the substitute, who was helping Jeff with his tie like he didn't know how to tie a Windsor knot. Clearly he'd conned the object of his crush into the whole thing – it was easy to believe anything Jeff said, with his guileless face and general air of innocence. Wes snorted at the scene before replying to Blaine. "I think you need to get more information about her before we can figure out whether it even needs to be brought up to anyone else. Maybe she was just singing to blow off steam."

"You weren't there when Mr. Schuester arrived," Blaine reminded him. "You didn't see her face. You didn't see _his_."

"Yeah, and you don't know what happened between your departure and what we came back to. Maybe it's nothing we need to get involved in. Maybe you're just trying to find something to distract from your own issues."

The tenor scuffed at the ground with his shoe, face twisting in a scowl. "Oh, what do you know."

"What all of us know, Blaine - that you're really good at deflection."

Man, what was with all his friends and their knowing him so well? It was terribly inconvenient sometimes. "I'm getting a handle on it."

"See that you do." Wes looked skeptical. "Look, I know I have a vested interest in keeping you here. I'd really like to hand the Chairmanship over to you more than anyone else. But you're my friend, and I want you to be _happy_. Do what you have to do...just make sure you take _everything_ into account."

Heaving a sigh, Blaine nodded. "I know. I am. I'm...I promise I'll make an informed decision, Wes. That's all I can tell you."

"That's all I can ask." Suddenly more cheerful than he'd been in a day, Wes tugged his friend into a hug. "Let's go get warmed up for this thing. No more time for freakouts."

The other boys were already gathering in a corner of the room they'd commandeered for their preparations, Holly standing in front of them with a pitch pipe. "Get a move on, fellas," she said cheerfully, waving her free hand at them in a clear indication to speed up. "It's almost showtime."

Nerves appeared to settle down as she led them through their warmup, voices losing their ragged edges and smoothing into a fluid harmony. The inevitability of the performance seemed to have finally resigned the shaky soloists to their fate. Holly still smiled encouragement at them as she directed them, still nodded reassuringly and tried to generally keep a pleasant atmosphere going.

She'd say one thing for New Directions – as certifiable as every one of its members were, not one of them was ever loathe to step into a solo spotlight. The Warblers could certainly benefit from that kind of lack of self-consciousness. If she accomplished only one thing before she left, it would be to get that damn single soloist rule stricken from the books forever. It wasn't much of a rebellion, she granted, but kicking one brick out of a wall made it easier to pry others loose. She could give the boys a start.

"You all sound just as great you are, guys. Awesome." She tucked the pitch pipe into her wrist bag and applauded, trying to jolly a few more smiles out of the ones whose nerves were still clearly jangling.

"Yep, you're all going to kill it." Once again, Blaine joined in with her efforts as if they were two halves of a team. "Two hours of your lives, and you're not even going to spend all of that singing. That's too bad, since you all sound completely fantastic."

Holly nodded in agreement. "The man knows from whence he speaks. All right! Fall in and move out!" She began shooing them off towards the door. "Don't worry, I'm right behind you and I'll totally be out there cheering you on. Break many, many legs! _Merde_!"

"Did she just cuss at us in French?" Jeff whispered to Nick, who shook his head and promised to explain later.

The Warblers took their places on stage as Holly spotted Headmaster Michaelson in the throng of gathered alumni and made her way to stand next to him. "Dr. Michaelson, good evening."

"Ah, Miss Holliday, hello." The Headmaster's smile was tense. "How are our boys?"

She patted his arm while Blaine, acting as tonight's emcee, made his introductory speech. "They're fine. Honestly. You should stop worrying so much, it's not good for the heart. They're going to be great!"

"I hope so. This is so unorthodox. We have many former Warblers here." He looked around warily, as if the alumni were some sort of threat to defend against. "They might not understand."

"Oh, I can't believe that everyone is that inflexible or that there's never been any sort of emergency that warranted a situation like this," Holly chided. "They'll love it. Did I tell you what we ended up planning?"

Dr. Michaelson suddenly looked slightly ill as he realized that no, she hadn't, and he'd been so upset about the situation that he hadn't asked. "Oh, no, you didn't."

"Well, coincidentally, Blaine had just updated the library with some competition numbers from years ago, so we just grabbed a bunch of those that the boys were familiar with and...well, I think you'll enjoy it. It's a tribute to Warblers past."

"Oh." He blinked owlishly. "Oh, I see. Oh. Well, that is rather nice."

"Worked out well, too." Holly pointed up at the stage to Trent, who looked queasy yet determined as he launched into his cover of 'I'm Yours,' ably backed by his smiling choirmates. "I personally think the alumni will appreciate the nod and it gives the boys more flexibility in choosing songs. Like this one – Blaine sounded pretty good when he tried it, but Trent really kicks butt!" At the Headmaster's incredulous sidelong glance, Holly coughed and amended her statement. "That is, he sounds excellent. Sorry."

"Apology accepted." He returned his focus to the stage, smiling and bobbing along to the pretty love ditty. "Mr. Davies does sound very good. He looks a bit nervous."

"Well, he's just not used to being a soloist. Very few of the boys are," Holly remarked, trying to keep her tone casual as she scattered the seeds of her tiny rebellion. "Not that they don't step up to the plate, but it would be less of a big deal if they did this more often."

"Hm." The Headmaster's hum was noncommittal, and he lapsed into silence for the rest of the song.

Holly took the opportunity to peek surreptitiously around at the crowd. Some of the alumni were dancing with their wives and girlfriends, singing along to the Jason Mraz tune as if they'd been the ones to take it to Regionals two years ago. Others were simply standing and smiling at the boys, bobbing their heads to the music as the Headmaster was doing. No one seemed displeased at the song or the fact that when it was over, Blaine popped up with another short speech and introduced Flint as the next soloist.

No one seemed offended at the broken tradition at all.

"Mr. Anderson looks much better," commented Dr. Michaelson as Flint threw himself heart and soul into his Spin Doctors number. "I suppose in the end he could have carried the performance after all."

"Maybe. But everyone seems to be fine with the changing soloists so far." She tried not to jam the point home too harshly, but it was difficult. Why hold on to a tradition that no one seemed to care about? She had so many questions, and tonight wasn't the night to ask them. Tonight was for pointing out that this was going well. "Look, you can see which ones are the 1994 alumni. They're singing along. Cute!"

The Headmaster only nodded. Holly decided to grease the wheels a bit more and snagged two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handing one to her superior. "Champagne, sir?"

"Oh. I don't...well, as it's an occasion." He took one of the glasses and raised it in a toast. "Cheers, Miss Holliday."

"Cheers, Dr. Michaelson." She raised her glass in return and then took a sip of the bubbly liquid. Ooh. Nice. Definitely not Korbel. Subbing at a privately funded prep school did have its perks.

"So how is Mr. Anderson, really, Miss Holliday?"

Holly choked a little on her second sip of sparkling wine. "Well, he's fine. See?" This was not entirely a lie. Blaine and Flint were currently Tiggering it up on the stage, bouncing like they'd been injected with Red Bull. The difference was that Flint genuinely was enjoying himself to the hilt, and Blaine was equal parts true joy and artificial showface.

He was better, not fine, but hey, who said the Headmaster needed to know that?

"You and I should schedule a conference. I'd like to ask you to assist him with his appeal, Miss Holliday."

"What? Why me? I'm a substitute."

"You seem to get along well with all of the boys, and you spend more time with them than any of the teachers."

"Not that I mind at all, since they're great, but honestly, I spend the time with them because you made it a condition of my employment," Holly pointed out.

Dr. Michaelson had the good graces to look sheepish. "Well, yes, that's true, but it does seem to have worked out marvelously, doesn't it?" He gestured to the stage with his glass, where Nick was now twirling one of the alumni wives around during his performance.

"Hm." Holly chose to not snipe that for a plan involving concepts to which he was generally opposed, yes indeed it surely had worked out just fine. That might have been construed as _insolent. _Unsure what to say after that, though, she let the conversation go dormant until the Headmaster excused himself to go mingle, leaving her to work out her next move.

She was mulling over how she could bring up the potentially unwelcome idea of counseling Blaine through his appeal when the boy appeared at her side during a break in the Warblers' set. "It's pretty great, right, Miss Holliday?"

"It is!" With a smile, she clinked her champagne flute against the glass of seltzer the tenor was holding. "You and Flint were great during his number. And even the Headmaster likes it." She pointed at Dr. Michaelson, who had strolled over to a cluster of Warblers past and present and was deep in animated conversation with them."Well, he doesn't completely hate it, at least."

"That's something."

"Yep." They stood shoulder to shoulder for a moment before Holly decided to just jump in. "Listen, I know we haven't had a chance to get back to our talk, but I need to schedule a time with you. Something's come up."

Blaine blinked. "What, with me?"

"Yeah. Turns out Michaelson wants me to mentor you through your appeal."

_That sounds like a __**terrible **__idea, _Blaine thought, alarmed. "Oh, does he?"

Holly poked him in the arm. "Your poker face really sucks, kid. I know you don't like the idea."

"I like _you..."_ He smiled weakly, making the teacher chuckle and nod.

"I know. But you don't _know_ me. It's one thing when we're working together to get these chuckleheads moving - " Her gesture encompassed all the Warblers she could see. " - entirely another when it comes to messing with your personal life."

Blaine developed a sudden fascination with his perfectly polished dress shoes. "Maybe."

"Uh-huh." She chucked him gently under the chin to make him look up. "I know you don't know what you're going to do about the appeal. Give me a chance to help. You came to me the other day, just think of this as an extension of whatever you were going to talk about then."

"They're related," he admitted.

"Kind of figured." She nodded and gave his arm an affectionate nudge. "You don't have to take my advice. You're a smart guy, Blaine. I'm just asking for a shot, okay?"

He nodded. "I'll think about it."

"Good man." With a gentle shove, she propelled him towards the stage. "Break's over. Get back to it, emcee."

Dr. Michaelson approached her. "So? Everything all right?"

"Just scheduling a time to chat," she replied neutrally, finishing her drink and signaling one of the seltzer-carrying waiters to come by. "He seems sort of open to the idea." _In the way that a closed book is open, but I can work with that._

"Good. Good." He watched as the boys reassembled onstage, preparing for Jeff to get his Fleetwood Mac on. "And you were right. The alumni are quite enjoying the show. They like the variety."

"Variety is the spice of life," she quoted, trying to be careful not to push her advantage. "Could be something to keep in mind for the future."

"Could be." The Headmaster's tone was as neutral as hers had been. She decided to drop it. With a farewell wave, she began circulating the room, listening to the snips of conversation from approving alumni. This was going well. Before Blaine took the microphone to introduce the Council, she'd even gotten phone numbers from a couple of the single men that were present. That was a nice unexpected bonus.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Blaine cleared his throat before continuing with his speech. "Every year, as you know, the Warblers elect a Council to guide them through their performance year. The Council selects the songs we perform for our competitions, they choose the soloist for the year, and they help keep a bunch of rambunctious teenage boys in order to the best of their ability." The audience chuckled at the idea of teenage boys keeping other teenage boys in check. "Wes Fletcher, David Hardwick, and Thad Lawrence have been our leaders this year, and they've done a great job leading us to our first Regionals competition in a long time. We felt like we hadn't thanked them enough, and wanted to give them this opportunity to perform as leads for you. Gentlemen?" Blaine bowed and sidestepped away from the microphone, leaving the stage to his superiors.

"Thank you, Mr. Anderson. My compliments on a job well done as emcee this evening, and on your brilliant repeat of our Sectionals performance. I'll never hear 'Hey, Soul Sister' again without thinking of you." Wes' smile was fond as he thanked his friend, David and Thad nodding enthusiastically as he went on. "We'd like to thank Blaine for his work this year as well. We may make the decisions, but without his showmanship and vocal skills, we wouldn't have made it as far as we did. Blaine Anderson has been a tremendous asset to the Warblers since his arrival, and we look forward to what he may bring to the group in the future."

Blaine nailed his show smile on a little more tightly. _Well, that was about as subtle as an anvil falling from the sky directly onto my head, Wes._ He tried to be charitable. Wes meant well. With his smile and a brief nod of acknowledgement, he stepped back into the lineup for the final number.

They'd found a short, sweet song that was maybe a little too appropriate to the occasion, but it was a nice one that they all knew. The Warblers had never performed it; it just had the advantage of being a reasonably simple yet effective four part a cappella harmony already, which is why Blaine had suggested it.

You would have never thought that the three seniors had been freaking out not two hours before at the idea of this performance. Wes stepped forward for the first two verses, the choir behind him providing a smooth foundation of wordless accompaniment as he sang.

_How do I say goodbye to what we had?  
>The good times that made us laugh<br>Outweigh the bad_

_I thought we'd get to see forever  
>But forever's gone away<br>It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday_

Wes turned the microphone over to Thad, who had a tiny hitch in his voice that was the only betrayal of his sadness at leaving the group behind. This wasn't the last time they'd perform together – there were a couple more performances before the end of the year – but it was the biggest one they had left and it was still a farewell, one they were grateful to be given the chance to express. None of the three Council members were leaning towards careers in music; they'd just truly loved and appreciated the brotherhood of the singing group, and they would miss it.

_I don't know where this road_  
><em>Is going to lead<em>  
><em>All I know is where we've been<em>  
><em>And what we've been through.<em>

_If we get to see tomorrow_  
><em>I hope it's worth all the wait<em>  
><em>It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.<em>

David took the final two verses, his smooth baritenor lifted in the joy of music and the sadness of goodbye. Tears were running down the faces of the majority of the alumni. Even Holly found it difficult to hold back her sniffles, and she'd heard it for the last two days.

_And I'll take with me the memories_  
><em>To be my sunshine after the rain<em>  
><em>It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday<em>

_And I'll take with me the memories_  
><em>To be my sunshine after the rain<em>  
><em>It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday<em>

As the boys ended and bowed their heads, the audience went completely bananas applauding for them, Holly included. After the disaster of the last concert she'd been involved with, it was nice to turn around and help put together something considerably more successful. They'd been great, exactly as she'd expected. A glance over at the Headmaster revealed that Dr. Michaelson, too, was impressed. She filed that away to bring that up whenever they had their conference.

Blaine came forward and took the microphone for the last time. "We'd like to thank the Dalton Academy Alumni Association for giving us the opportunity to perform for you this evening, and for your enthusiastic applause. It really means a lot to have an appreciative audience." He smiled as the audience continued to cheer. "The Warblers would also like to thank Miss Holly Holliday, who has taken on the thankless job of being an Advisor to us for the remainder of the year. She's put up with a lot from us the last two weeks, she's probably going to put up with a lot more as the school year ends, and we wanted to express our appreciation. Miss Holliday, can you come up?"

"Oh." She was surprised, allowing herself to be led up to the stage by a grinning Nick and Jeff. "I wasn't expecting this. I'm not making a speech."

"No need," Nick whispered. "We just wanted to do something nice for you."

Trent came from the wings with a large flower arrangement that he placed carefully into Holly's arms. It was oddly heavy in the middle; curiously, she poked at it and discovered a small brass apple paperweight hidden amongst the daisies and carnations. Amused, she raised an eyebrow at Blaine, who was struggling not to laugh at his own joke.

_Well, well, well, Mr. Anderson. I believe we might get along just fine after all._

After a final round of thanks, waves, and farewells, everyone trooped offstage to their preparation room. Holly corralled them all for a last quick talk. "You did a great, great job tonight, guys. Really fantastic. And thank you for the flowers. You totally didn't have to, I've had fun helping you out for the last week."

"But you've been here for _two_ weeks," Jeff piped up, puzzled.

"Yes, and I haven't decided whether or not to forgive you for a solid first week of doo-wop Fifties standards." She smirked at the group before continuing. "I'd like to meet only on Tuesday and Thursday this week – we don't have as much work to do to put together a setlist for the Shady Oaks Retirement Home Benefit next week, you all have studying to do, and I have review units to teach. Enjoy your break, don't study too hard, and I'll see you then, okay?"

The choir dispersed in a gaggle of laughter and backslapping. Holly fell into step next to Blaine as the room emptied. "Are you going to Lima tonight?"

"No, but I'm leaving early in the morning." The better to maximize the little time he had with Kurt this week. "I'm going straight to sleep when I get back to the dorm."

She nodded. "Good. I hope you have fun. Say hi to Kurt and Finn for me."

"I will."

"Remember - " she aimed a pair of fingerguns at him and made a weird clicking sound with her tongue before she continued on. "No rehearsal on Monday. I'll be in my classroom after school."

Swallowing, he nodded back to indicate acceptance of the order couched in the guise of providing information. "Got it. Sounds great." It didn't, really, but there was nothing for it. He did need to talk to someone. Time to decide was running out and he clearly wasn't going to be able to work it out on his own.

"See you then." She smiled and squeezed his arm. "Come on, don't look so psyched out! It's not the end of the world, you know." And she was gone, leaving him to tilt his head and stare after her.

It was nice that _someone_ could be so sure about that.

_**Author's Note: **__Dancers say 'merde' before performances as a good luck epithet. Yes, it means 'shit' in French. Technically, Jeff was correct, but there was a reason for Holly saying it._

_The Council sang that classic a cappella ballad "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday" by Boyz II Men, which may have been a touch on the nose, but fit the sentiment and the story. :) And God do *I* feel old, that came out when I was in high school...yow..._


	11. Uncomfortable Truths

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_Wow. HI. There are more new people here. Aren't you all pretty! Or handsome! You could be handsome if that's more accurate. Thanks to Mika-chan for the rec this week at K_B, and thanks to everyone who's giving this fic a shot. I love the alerts and reviews and anything at all that shows me that people are interested in this story. They're appreciated and I can't thank you all enough._

_There aren't really any spoilers if you've seen the whole second season of Glee (which, by the way, I don't own, I just play with it). We are officially in the Prom Queen timeline, however, for this and two more chapters, so you should at least have watched that far. There's some language and allusions to violent events, though no explicit description._

**Chapter 10 - Uncomfortable Truths**

Blaine was frozen in the doorway of the Geography classroom.

"Mr. Anderson?" Holly looked up from the papers she was grading, her expression one of curiosity. "Would you like to come in, or are you waiting for an engraved invitation? I have to warn you, I haven't been to the stationery store lately. You'd be waiting a while."

"N...no." He twitched as if trying to wake himself up. "I was just a little...um. Pocahontas?"

Touching the collar of her her fringed leather tunic, she shook her head. "Close. Sacajawea. We're reviewing Lewis and Clark. Ooh, thanks for reminding me." Deftly, she began removing hairpins from the long dark wig on her head. "This was getting warm. Are those for me?"

She was referring to the small bouquet of orchids in Blaine's hands. He looked down at them as if he were surprised to find them there. "Oh. Yes." After another sort of full body shake, he made his way into the classroom, handing the flowers off to the substitute. She paused in her wig removing to accept and sniff at them.

"Thank you. Orchids! How pretty. I think you're my favorite student right now."

"Why?"

She pointed at the fruit bowl, where the already large apple population had exploded. "Because if I get any more fruit, I'm going to start throwing it at people. Or I'll have to learn how to bake a pie. Neither option appeals. I don't want to be arrested for assault, and there's a good reason why I always turn down home ec subbing jobs."

"Oh." He marveled at the bowl for a moment longer. "That is...that's really, really epic."

"It _has _gotten a little out of hand." Placing the nosegay on her desk, Holly resumed pulling hairpins out. "You boys are going to spoil me at this rate. Flowers, fruit, gifts, and now more flowers - what's the occasion for these?"

"Those are from me," Blaine's voice was suddenly taut with strain, making the teacher look up from underneath the wig she was now pulling off. She realized that he had every possible wall up. "Just me. As a sort of, 'I'm sorry, but our conversation is going to be even more complicated than either of us anticipated' present."

"Wow, do they make cards for that?" At his glare, she relented. "Sorry. I tend to use humor to defuse tense situations, and boy, do you look like a bomb about to go off."

"I feel like one," he confessed, moving to unbutton his blazer and take a seat in one of the desks. His bag dropped from his hand with a loud thump. "Or like I've been run over by a truck."

"Did you get the license plate number? Sorry...sorry!" She raised her hands in surrender, a guilty look on her face. "I can't help it. Sometimes I am a _deeply_ awkward person to talk to."

He sighed. "I get that a lot myself. Apparently I lack a filter. But only sometimes."

"From observation, I think your affliction is more of an occasional lack of common sense. No offense." Tossing the wig onto her desk, Holly tugged off the cap underneath that had been keeping her own hair confined. Two more hairpins and a good shake let the blonde mane tumble around her shoulders. "Whew. There's a vast improvement. So." She leveled a steady gaze onto the wretched looking boy sitting in front of her. "Why is the complication level of our conversation suddenly on the rise?"

The junior found himself looking down at his hands, which were clenching and flexing into and out of fists, knuckles flushing alternately red and white with each movement. When a pair of smaller hands covered his and pressed down gently to still the motion, Blaine looked up and saw that Holly had slipped into an adjacent desk, concern filling her eyes. He tried to speak several times, opened his mouth to let it all out, but no words came, as if they were doing the hiding from the world that he couldn't.

Tension, silence and worry mingled to fill the room like a dense fog. It was several moments before a bitter laugh broke free from Blaine's restraint. "He didn't know. I mean, I haven't talked to him about it. Haven't had the chance to. So he didn't know he'd just made everything worse. I put a good face over it, I'm good at that." He tilted his head back and shut his mouth abruptly, his jaw tight as a the skin on a drum.

Nothing he said was making sense to Holly, since it was entirely out of context, but she could easily interpret his posture and attitude: Tremendously Not Good. "Okay. I'm going to have to ask you to talk about it, because I think if you don't, you're going to have a nervous breakdown of the not-fun kind." She paused to think. "And I need you to make more sense. I didn't get that."

"I'd planned on it." Looking suddenly far younger than seventeen, Blaine wiped a shaking hand down his face and took several deep, shuddering breaths. "It's only...I just need a second."

"Can I get you anything? Water? Valium? Wait, I can't give you that...an apple?"

Another bitter laugh. "No. No. I'm fine."

"Kid, forgive me if I don't trust your definition of the word 'fine.' People who are fine don't usually look like they're staring down the barrel of a gun."

He cast a pained, sidelong glance at her. "I was going to tell him. Kurt. The transfer thing. I was going to bring it up and kind of...test the waters."

"Okay." She kept her voice calm and steady. "What went wrong?"

"He asked me to Prom."

She could honestly say that that was not what she had expected, and frowned. "See, I was expecting something more along the lines of, 'He broke up with me.' I don't think most people see Prom as a traumatic event."

"Key word being 'most,' of course." Blaine's normally smooth, even voice was rough around the edges. "I, however, not being 'most' people, have a history with dances."

"Going to guess it's less than stellar."

A sardonic smile twisted his mouth as he pointed at her. "Give the lady a prize."

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Holly asked, squeezing the hand she still held..

"There's not really a lot _to _tell," he sighed. "I went to a Sadie Hawkins dance at my old school. With a guy."

She sucked in a breath. "Oh."

"Yeah. It went over like a ton of bricks. A ton of bricks that ended up landing on us." When the teacher looked puzzled, he clarified, "We were beaten after the dance. That...that's actually what triggered my transfer here."

"Yes. Okay. That's bad." She nodded, then shook her head. No matter how she tried, she would never, ever be able to understand why anyone felt that love should be met with fists. "Yes, I know that's the understatement of the century, Blaine."

"I wasn't going to say anything." He tipped his shoulder up in a shrug that had as much exhaustion in it as resignation. His eyes were focused now on things that were far away and not in the room – gazing off for a thousand miles.

He looked so _young. _Too young to be so tired. Holly pulled back a hand and propped her chin up with it. "So Kurt asked you to Prom. And that was a bad thing. What happened next?"

"He talked me into going." A whisper of a smile curled up at the corner of his lips. "He gets in these moods. All 'damn the man, let's push boundaries.' I can't say no to him when he's like that, not when really, I feel the same way. He's going to take over the world one day, and I'm going to let him..." He trailed off into nothing, looking both fond and frightened.

"But you're scared."

"Permission to speak frankly?" When she nodded, he exhaled explosively. "Shitless. And I hate, _hate_ to say that. He thinks I'm so brave. I told him I ran from my old school, I let myself be driven out, and he still thinks I'm brave. But he's the one with courage. I texted him that once. 'Courage.' Like he needed it."

"Do you regret removing yourself from danger?"

"What?" His gaze came back to the room and landed on her, full of a lack of understanding. Fair enough, the question had all the subtlety and seeming relevance of a car crashing through the far wall of the classroom.

"You said you ran," Holly replied, slowly and carefully. "That you _let_ yourself be driven out. So that indicates to me that you actually regret putting your safety as your number one priority."

"Wait. No. I didn't say that."

"Yeah, you kind of did. See, this is why I said your issue is less of a lack of filter and more of a lack of common sense. It's forgivable, though. And correctable." She extended both of her arms over her head in a deep, satisfying stretch, then continued. "You're just a teenager after all, you can't be expected to be able to fully understand the ramifications of _everything_ that comes out of your mouth."

Blaine looked as though someone had just smacked him on the back of the head. "You have a twisted way of interpreting things."

"I just want you to think." She poked him in the shoulder. "Look at all the angles. It takes as much bravery to walk away from a bad situation as it does to confront it. More, sometimes – you're turning your back on a threat, after all."

"I hadn't thought of it like that."

"Yeah, I know."

An exasperated look crossed his face. "Are you always this annoyingly know-it-all when you're giving people advice?"

"Pretty much. Are you surprised?"

He stared at her for a moment, fingers drumming on the desk. "I'm not used to adults who are so candid. I don't really know how to deal with it."

With a sympathetic smile, the teacher reached over and patted his hand. "Most people find it best to just go with the flow."

"Okay, then." He cleared his throat and disappeared into his thoughts for a moment. Absently, he brought his thumb up and chewed at a hangnail. "I'm...seriously, Miss Holliday. I'm kind of freaked about this. I act like I know what I'm doing, but I don't. Not really."

"You fake it better than most. I'm not calling it a valid lifestyle choice that you should continue through adulthood, but you're good at it. Good enough that maybe it's not all an act anymore." She looked up at him through a veil of her hair. "I think you're a lot more brave and confident as a person than you give yourself credit for."

Startled, he laughed. "Wow. Rachel said something almost exactly like that the other day."

"She's not stupid. Loud, annoying, and too ambitious for her own good, but not stupid."

"Hey, that's one of my best friends you're maligning there." At Holly's _oh, you're actually going to tell me you never thought those things even once? _look, he held up a hand in capitulation. "I withdraw the objection."

"Wise choice." She gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Do you want me to come?"

"Sorry?" The _non sequitur_ baffled him, causing him to furrow his brow as he tried to follow. She would have felt sorry for him if it weren't for the fact that he'd been around her for going on three weeks and honestly, he really should have been getting used to the rapid changes of conversational flow by now.

"To Prom. Would you like for me to be there?" At his confused look, she hastened to explain. "I'm pretty sure I could con Will into taking me along as a date. Or I could get Sue to let me in if I explained that I was there on yours and Kurt's behalf. Whatever, I don't think it would be difficult to get in, is what I'm saying. If you think you need moral support."

"Why would you do that for me?" His eyes were wide with confusion.

She shrugged. "I don't doubt for one hot second that those kids would defend you as equally as they'd defend Kurt...but the thing is, as far as moral support goes, they're there for him first. He's one of their own. I just kind of felt like you could use a support system who was _yours_ first."

"That's...wow." Blaine flailed for something to say. "You don't even know me that well, and didn't you actually teach Kurt first?"

"Doesn't matter. I know that you're lonely, and upset, and that your support system consists mainly of fellow high school students," she replied quietly. "Kurt has a lot of adults in his corner and...I get the impression that you don't." Leaning over, she grabbed his hand again. "I'm a lot of things – self-centered, flighty, eccentric, prone to spontaneous unnecessary costuming – but Blaine, I'm also someone who knows what it's like to feel like you don't have anyone _big enough_ on your side."

He dragged in one deep breath, then another, nodding at nothing at all and still looking impossibly young for the burden on his shoulders. "That...that hits close." He looked her fully in the face, a thin, sweet, sad smile appearing as briefly as a wish. "But I think I'm going to decline the offer. Only because I really don't want Kurt to know the full extent of how this is bothering me. Not yet. And he'd wonder about it if you came."

Annoyed, she spoke before she thought. "Why do you feel like you have to protect him from the world? What about you?" The words landed between them like a thrown gauntlet.

"I...what?" Now he looked like he'd been slapped. Holly felt sorry for opening this particular can of worms, but it was too late to turn back now. She pressed on.

"You just hide everything. It's driving me crazy. 'I was about to tell Kurt about my transfer.' Which means you hadn't even mentioned it in passing even though _I _know about it and _I'm_ certainly not dating you and wouldn't be affected by it. Well, unless you do it and I end up teaching at McKinley next year." She grinned at him, but he was too stunned to return it. Since he was neither talking nor running away, though, she kept going. "And 'I don't want him to know the full extent of how this is bothering me.' You know about what bothers him, because he's not afraid to talk about it, why is it not okay for him to know what bothers you?"

"You don't...I don't...this isn't...you don't understand."

"Right, exactly, that's why I'm asking." Holly waited for his response with all the patience born out of many years of substitute teaching in Ohio's public schools, several months of which had involved riding herd over Noah Puckerman. "I'm actually curious."

Blaine's mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to string together a coherent sentence and push it out. "He's had a rough year. Why add to the burden?"

"You had a rough year not too long ago," she pointed out. "He knows about that."

"That's different, I was letting him know I understood where he was coming from."

"Uh-huh. He's not going to break, Blaine." Holly kept a level stare on him and ignored his excuse in favor of going to what she was pretty sure was the heart of the matter. "Your guy went back to the school that frightened him off. I don't know what all went into making that happen – I'm pretty sure very little of it involved Figgins _doing_ anything, given what I know of that man - which means a lot of it was on Kurt. He's stronger than you're giving him credit for being."

Once again, Blaine did his very best fish impression. Holly worked hard not to give in to the urge to quote Mary Poppins and was quite pleased with herself when she succeeded.

"Yeah. I think I hit the nail on the head with that one, huh, kid?" Realizing she was still holding his hand, she gave it another squeeze. "Do I even need to point out how insulting it is to Kurt that you think he needs to be protected like some kind of..." Her eyes fell on the bouquet of orchids on her desk. "...hothouse flower?"

His free hand had moved to cover his face, which he rubbed a few times. "Well, no...but that's not all."

Holly shrugged. "Tell me."

"I don't..." He took in a deep breath. "I don't want him to think any less of me. I wanted to be strong, too."

"It's commendable to want to be strong. Understandable, for sure. But the best thing is when both people in a relationship are strong enough to hold _each other_ up. Make sense?" At his nod, she continued on. "You're never going to know how much Kurt can bear if you never give him the chance to really carry anything for you. And you can't carry burdens for the both of you forever, kid."

The boy didn't breathe for a long moment, and then let it all out in a large gust. "I hadn't thought of that."

"I can tell." When he glared, she spread her hands out and looked innocent. "I _told_ you I was deeply awkward to talk to a lot of the time. You didn't run when you had the chance."

He looked, quite oddly, equal parts surly and amused. "It's even more difficult when you realize you're talking to a nearly perfect stranger who's dressed like a Scandinavian version of Pocahontas."

"Sacajawea," she reminded him.

"I'm aware. I'm just giving as good as I got."

"You need more practice." She tilted her head to the side and gazed at him in assessment. "Seriously, though, Blaine. I'm not really a perfect stranger at this point. Say the word and I'll be at Prom. It's not a weakness to want moral support."

"Didn't you just tell me that if I put on the brave face often enough, it'll become permanent?" Now Blaine's smile was a bit more genuine and lopsided. "Make up your mind, lady."

"Yeah, well." She sat back and waved a careless hand at him. "I just wanted to do what I could to be there for you."

"Be _here_ next Monday after school so I can come tell you all about how awesome – or awful - it was," he shot back. "I'd say Sunday after the retirement home gig, but Flint and Nick have claimed my time for a Calculus review."

"You've got yourself a date during what sounds like a very busy weekend, Mr. Anderson." They grinned at each other, the tension from earlier dissipating a little. "Now that I've thoroughly traumatized you, we should at least have a token discussion of the original topic on our agenda. Namely, your potential transfer."

"You really know how to ruin a mood, you know that?" Blaine's smile slipped into rueful territory as he loosened his tie and collar. "And things were going so well."

"My goodness, sir, you do know how to flatter a girl."

"Girls are a fairly abstract subject for me," he retorted. "It stands to reason that sometimes I mess up."

Holly scoffed and gave him a playful shove. "If I hadn't seen you in charming action around the alumni ladies Saturday night, I'd almost buy that. And stop avoiding the topic. Wes warned me about that tendency of yours."

"When did you even get to talk to Wes?"

"He came by at lunchtime. Focus, kid."

"Fine." He drew the word out to several syllables and rolled his eyes. "I'm still on the fence. I haven't decided whether or not to fight for my place here."

"Right..."

He waited for her to say something else, but the teacher just blinked at him, smiling sunnily and keeping her mouth resolutely shut. When the silence stretched on and she still waited with an air of expectation, he gave in. "I like it here. I like it a lot. But ever since Kurt came...it feels like I've woken up. Like my time here has been a cocoon. I've been protected, safe, life has been easy."

Holly's eyebrows shot up. "I happen to know that Mr. Chandler has assigned a twelve page essay on Hannibal's March as a warm-up to your World History final, and that Madame Ducharme is planning on spending the next four weeks in full French immersion. Did you want to rephrase that?"

The teenager waved this off. "I'm not talking from an academic standpoint. I actually like being buried in work. It keeps my mind off of things. To the point that from the time I got here to until Kurt came into my life, I'd actually almost forgotten that I wasn't always a Dalton boy." He meandered off at the end, his attention following along briefly. "I've gotten very comfortable here."

"Which I'm given to understand was the point of you coming to Dalton in the first place...?" Holly got up and walked over to lean against her desk, wanting the height difference to add weight to her counterpoints. "I mean, you know McKinley is seriously light-years behind Dalton in the realms of tolerance and acceptance, right? And that the homework load there is not going to be heavy enough for you to escape into it?" She frowned off into the distance, trying to think. "I assigned homework maybe once while I was there. When I tried to do it a second time, there was an uprising."

He gave her an odd look, but decided not to pursue that particular subject. "I know. Rachel's told me the same thing, more or less. I really am trying to take everything into consideration."

"Okay." She pushed off and started to pace a little. "So let's move away from the reasons you might not want to go to McKinley and focus on the reasons you _do_ want to go."

"Kurt," he replied promptly. "Rachel. New Directions in general – the lack of restraint they pretty much celebrate. The freedom of not having to wear a uniform. To not have to worry about traditions. To just be a normal public school kid again like I always was before everything went to hell."

"If that last one were really a consideration, you could go back to your old school," Holly remarked. "Not that I'm recommending that. Just saying. McKinley's not your only choice if you're looking for the public school experience."

Blaine glared. "I know that."

The teacher shrugged. "Okay. So, now the reasons you might want to stay at Dalton." She held her hand up to stop the boy before he was off and running. "Think about this. These are not the same reasons why you'd want to not go to McKinley. I'm talking Dalton specific reasons."

"Oh." He looked stumped for a moment; when he began to speak, it was slowly. "The Warblers. Specifically Nick, since he's been a really awesome roommate, but, you know, all of them. The way Dalton's going to look on my college applications." He started to pick up speed. "The way I fit in here even though they've all known each other for years. The fun of being able to compose musical arrangements that we go out and perform. The way that the guys are open to loosening up. The fact that we have our own coffee shop and it's actually better than the Lima Bean. The grounds here – they're pretty incredible, there's tons of gardens you can go sit in and think. The no bullying policy. Boarding, I really like boarding, it's like having a whole bunch of brothers always around that I didn't know I wanted." He ran out of steam finally and sat blinking in surprise.

Holly was standing by the door now, arms crossed over her chest and nodding. "That's a lot of reasons in favor of staying. But - " She pointed a finger at him. "There's a lot of emotional weight behind your reasons for going to McKinley, too. That means Dalton isn't a clear winner."

"So I'm no closer to deciding." Blaine's shoulders slumped, his blazer wrinkling as his posture crumpled. "I'm never going to figure this out."

"Yes, you are." She came over and tugged him to his feet. "You have to. Your appeal is right at about a month away. But now you can think about it a little more linearly. I hope?" She searched his face. "That was my point, you know. To try and get you out of the circular thinking I thought you might be stuck in."

He nodded. "I was. So, yes, I think this will help."

"And _talk_ to people, Blaine. Not just me. Start with Kurt, since he's going to be affected by it. I assume Rachel knows. How did you swear her to secrecy, by the way?"

"I renewed her subscriptions to Variety and Billboard," he admitted, shaking his head. "And I promised to get tickets to 'Wicked' when it comes to Dayton next year."

She whistled, impressed. "Whew. The price of conspiracy is steep these days. I'm happy accepting the flowers as my bribery. Not that I really need any, since I never see Kurt anyway."

"He's coming on Sunday, actually," Blaine replied. "If that's okay? Just to watch us, although the Shady Oaks people will be sad. They like to hear him sing. And can he come with us to pizza afterward?"

"Of course he can. It'll be nice to see him." Pausing, Holly looked thoughtful, then brightened up. "Okay, I changed my mind. To keep my silence in front of Kurt on Sunday, my price is that you guys not sing 'Girl From Ipanema' for the retirees."

The tenor grinned. "Sorry. They really love that one. They'll already be bummed about Kurt not singing, I'm not disappointing senior citizens twice. Shame on you, Miss Holliday."

"It was worth a shot." She rolled her eyes melodramatically and slumped against her desk in mock disappointment. "I'll have to live through it somehow."

"That song hasn't killed anyone yet, I'm sure you won't be the first."

"And won't you feel silly when you get proven wrong? I expect you to sing at my funeral, Mr. Anderson."

"It's a deal." He grinned. "Hey. Listen. Miss Holliday...can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." The substitute shrugged as she sat back down behind her desk and pulled over a stack of unit review tests. "If you don't mind me grading."

He shook his head. "No, that's fine." Hesitating, he wondered how exactly to bring up the topic in which he was interested. "Wes and I heard you singing the other day."

"That's not exactly a question." She looked up, a bland expression on her face. "I hope you enjoyed it."

"Well, you were great, yeah." Blaine groped for words. "Are _you_ okay? I mean, you and Mr. Schuester looked to be working up to a pretty big argument when I left, and then we came back and accidentally overheard you singing that kind of aggressive song...I just wanted to be sure you were fine, too."

Holly smiled politely. "Yep. I'm good."

He came to sit on the edge of her desk, picking an apple out of the overflowing fruit bowl and biting into it. "You know," the teen went on conversationally after swallowing, "I understand that there is _much_ you can teach me about actually playing the game Everything Is Fine, but I'm not totally a novice. I can spot it being played a mile away."

"I'm sure you can." She sighed and put down her pen, resting her chin on her hand again. "If I don't answer you honestly, you're probably going to keep pestering me, right?"

"Yup." He took another bite, looking expectant. "I talked to you and it's helping me, maybe I can return the favor."

"And I suppose it won't make any difference if I tell you that in this case, it's not really your business since teaching and counseling is actually my job, not yours, and you're a teenager to boot?"

"Mm. Not really." A mischievous grin spread across his face. "You're deeply awkward to talk to, but I lack common sense and an appropriateness filter, remember?"

"It's returning to my awareness, yes." She grimaced. "Would you look at that. I'm tasting my own medicine and it's kind of crappy."

"Oh, come on. It's really not that bad. Just jump in! Tell me your problems." Suddenly hyper and supremely entertained, Blaine bounced back over to the desk he'd been occupying and assumed his seat again, merrily eating his apple. "The doctor is _in._"

Holly could only stare at him. "Okay, one, never say that again, because something about it was super creepy. Two, I can't today. I really have to grade these papers, and I don't want to drag them home. Home, by the way, is an hour away from here, which leads us to three – I should get on the road soon."

"Now who's avoiding?"

She pointed a finger in warning. "Don't start. The biggest issue is that it would be as inappropriate for me to discuss anything involving Will Schuester with you as a potential future student of his as it would be for me to discuss you with him as the boyfriend of one of _his_ students."

"Oh, did I come up the other day?" He perked up, interested. "What for?"

"You know what for. He interrupted our talk and wanted to know what was going on. I told him where he could put his nosy questions." She glared. "Which really I should also say to you."

"All right, all right. Contrary to popular belief, I can actually take a hint sometimes." Blaine rose to his feet and rebuttoned his blazer. "I have homework anyway. See you at rehearsal tomorrow?"

"Absolutely. Oh, the cleaning staff has asked me to ask you guys to take a break from furniture hopping for a while? They're out of the special leather polish they use for the couches in the rehearsal hall."

"Aw, man. Fine. The Shady Oaks set list doesn't really inspire much couch jumping anyway." The tenor slung his bag over his shoulder and picked up the remainder of his apple. "See you then."

"Later, Mr. Anderson." She waited until his footsteps had faded down the corridor before dropping her face into her palms. "This is what you get for being helpful. You get nosy teenagers trying to return the favor." Leaning back in her chair, Holly picked up her pen and started tapping out a distracted staccato rhythm on her pile of tests. "Ugh. I give up. I need a beer." Resigning herself to a night of grading, the substitute got up and started shoving the papers into her bag.

Something caught her eye on one of the tests just before she tossed her wig in on top of the stack. Warily curious, she fished it out.

"Lewis and Clark's interpreter on their 19th century expedition was a 15 year old Shoshone woman named Pocahontas."

Holly groaned. "Check that. I need a beer, and a pint of ice cream, and to go back to the beginning of April and take the job at the Lima Bean instead."

**_Author's Note: _**_It always bugged me that Blaine seems ao open to Kurt when they're talking about good stuff, but he's walled off and only casually forthcoming when it comes to the bad stuff. Poor Kurt doesn't know enough to call him out on it._


	12. Blame It On The Caffeine

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_Welcome back! Thank you to all the new readers, alerters, reviewers, et al. Please know that I appreciate more than you know. Your feedback - especially in regards to my characterization of Holly - means more than I can even tell you._

_Disclaimers: Glee is not mine. This chapter is concurrent with "Prom Queen," so if you have seen none of Glee up to that point then, well, spoilers sweetie! Rated T for language and general teenage boy mayhem. Off we go._

**Chapter Eleven – Blame It On the Caffeine**

The mood in the Warblers' rehearsal hall was not an overall genial one.

"Why are we doing this again?" David was eyeballing the large French Roast before him with no small amount of irritation – understandable, perhaps, when one considered that it was his third such drink of the day. "I mean, seriously, some of us have short enough fuses already. I'm just saying. The end result could be justifiable homicide."

"I need to observe the effects of excessive caffeine consumption on living subjects and I think it's unethical to test on animals, since I can't ask their permission," Thad replied with a slightly obnoxious air of piety as he took notes. "It's perfect. We have a coffee shop on campus and I have fifteen close friends who are all studying for finals and were going to be ingesting a lot of caffeine anyway."

Trent scowled darkly from the corner of the sofa he'd tucked himself into, his foot tapping on the marble flooring at a speed that would have hummingbirds struggling to keep up. "Actually, you have _sixteen_ friends who fit that criteria. Why exactly does Blaine get out of it, again?"

The Warblers' frontman looked up at the mention of his name. "The Minesweeper Incident," he reminded the other boy mildly.

"Oh. Right." Trent raised his eyebrows and nodded. "How long did you end up playing?"

"Nineteen, maybe twenty hours? It's all kind of a haze now."

"Besides, I need a control subject to compare the rest of you to. For bringing up Blaine's non-participation, drink." Thad walked around and thumped Trent on the head with his pencil, causing the junior to swat at him. "Taking a swing at the project facilitator just earned you an extra _two_ drinks, Davies."

Everyone groaned and lifted the cardboard cups to their mouths, obediently swigging down a gulp each – three for Trent, despite protesting vociferously that he'd been provoked into violence. Which earned them all yet another swig, as "Indignant Outbursts From Trent" was also a shooting point.

"What I don't understand," Flint grinched from the table where he was trying and failing to help Blaine and Holly annotate sheet music, what with being too easily distracted to concentrate, "is why this is a _drinking_ game."

Thad blinked. "Oh. I just thought that would make it more fun for you guys."

"_Nothing _can make this fun. Did you even know I actually don't like coffee, Thad? I drink green tea."

"I had to have everyone drinking the same thing so I could set a level baseline, Flint. It's just for a week, quit complaining." Thad's tone was taking on a certain amount of sharpness. Why did this have to be so difficult? He would do the same for any of them. Maybe. He'd give it a good amount of thought at least.

Holly glanced briefly at Thad. "I need you guys to take a day off from the project on Sunday," she cautioned. "As fun as it would be to watch the inevitable trainwreck - and it would be _hilarious_ - I think there'd be some kind of liability issue with turning the entire caffeinated bunch of you loose on the poor residents of Shady Oaks."

"Fine," Thad grumbled, making note. The other Warblers let out surreptitious relieved sighs and cast glances of gratitude upon their Advisor. She, in turn,winced a little because she thought she might have just earned herself another two dozen apples. Oh, man, was she getting tired of apples.

"We're almost done here, guys, and then we can rehearse," Blaine spoke absently as he circled an instruction for _pianissimo_ voice. "Sorry this took so long, but the good news is that we really only need one more run through of the set list."

Jeff bounced up and down like a ferret on speed, causing Nick to groan and clutch at his head. The two were sharing a single couch while Nick helped his best friend with his Economics homework, and Blaine's roommate was clearly feeling the more deleterious effects of the several coffees he'd had. Jeff, however, was on the other end of the spectrum, causing Thad to spend extra time observing them. "Blaine! Hey Blaine!" Jeff bounced harder, earning a deadly glare from his buddy. "You said Kurt was coming to see us, right?"

Blaine smiled as he marked down a few more volume levels. "Yeah. And Miss Holliday said he could come to lunch afterward, too."

"That rocks! Man! I've missed Kurt!" Jeff was practically vibrating with excitement.

"I miss Pavarotti," Flint mumbled mournfully to no one in particular. Everyone stopped to look at him curiously. "What? I liked the little guy. He was a good bird. Whatever. It'll be good to see Kurt."

"Yeah it will!" Jeff was about to jump up on the couch and really go to town working out his excess energy when Nick reached up, grabbed a handful of blazer in his hand, and yanked his best friend down onto the couch, where he landed with a crash and a surprised look.

"I will put cold oatmeal in your loafers and switch your shampoo for Nair if you cannot manage to calm your business down, Jeff," Nick hissed.

David stared at the normally mild-mannered baritone with considerable worry. "See, Thad? See what this is doing to us after only half a day? Although...really, I kind of thought I was going to be the one to snap first. Or Wes." He looked over at the Council Chairman, who was tapping his gavel to the beat of Rush's "Roll The Bones."

Being able to keep up with the drumming prowess of Neil Peart was probably not a good sign.

"This is important for my final term paper, guys! Don't you want me to graduate?" Thad put on a deeply unconvincing pleading look and aimed it around the room.

"More than you'll ever know," Blaine assured him, a bright smile on his face when he glanced up again.

Thad suspected that Blaine was being sarcastic, but the lead singer was unnaturally good at looking innocent. It was hard to tell. Thad decided to glare threateningly at the junior just to cover all his bases.

For his part, Blaine was happy to not be taking official part in the project. His nerves were still somewhat frayed with all of the Prom preparation he was doing. He was driving to and from Lima each night for tuxedo fittings, New Directions had asked him to perform a solo with them as part of the evening's entertainment, and Kurt had dropped another bombshell on his head in the form of his own Prom outfit: a very fierce Alexander McQueen inspired formal kilt ensemble.

Once again, Blaine had allowed his very legitimate objections to be overruled. And he was actually pretty okay with that part of it – Kurt did look mind-numbingly hot in the damn thing, and he had made a lot of good points in his defense when his father and Blaine had tried to point out that the idiots he went to high school with wouldn't see it a a _fashion _statement, but rather a great big _screw you_ kind of statement. The kind of statement that invited retaliation.

It was just...Kurt may have made a thousand good points this week, points with which Blaine wholeheartedly agreed, but it didn't stop him from worrying about things that could happen. He wasn't sure Kurt was worried _enough_ about that kind of thing. Part of Blaine, the part that still remembered blood and concussions and bruises and panic attacks, wanted to grab Kurt and _shake_ him until he truly, fully understood that even the best-intended actions could have devastating consequences.

He wanted to scream at the other boy that yes, wholly unbridled optimism is something that can be beaten out of you.

But he also wanted to have as fantastic a Prom experience as possible with his boyfriend, and he wanted to do what he could to help facilitate that experience, so for right now, he'd worry but he'd trust and hope that Kurt was right, that things had improved enough to make this go well.

And if they hadn't...no. He wouldn't even entertain the notion. No one liked to hear "I told you so."

"Blaine?" Holly waved a hand in front of his face. "Hey. Wake up. You okay?"

"What? Oh. Yeah. I'm good." He glanced down at the paper in front of him, avoiding her penetrating, unbelieving stare. "I'm done with this piece."

"And I'm done with mine. Okay, boys!" The Advisor clapped her hands together and stood up. "Let's get this show on the road."

"We'll start with 'Girl From Ipanema.'" Blaine shrugged apologetically at Holly. "Sorry, Miss Holliday. We have to practice it, and I figured we'd just get that one out of the way."

"Ugh. You have a point, but I just can't. Guys, you don't need me right now, you've got this." She flapped her hand in aggravation and vanished out of the rehearsal hall, intending to go for a nice long tea break. It was this or use her grading pen to take out her eardrums in the name of mercy.

She rather liked being able to hear. Most of the time.

The Warblers exchanged looks of concern. "Was it something we said?" Jeff wondered aloud.

Blaine shook his head. "No, she just really hates this song for some reason. It's not us, we're fine."

"Seriously, dude, the song's not that bad," David griped. "I don't like it either, but she's got some kind of pathological hatred thing going on."

Thad rolled his eyes. "David made a psychology reference. Everybody drink."

All of the boys picked up their coffee cups and slugged back a gulp. Nick was starting to look slightly green and very twitchy. "I don't feel so hot, guys. I'm on my fourth cup here."

"Thank your lucky stars that the cleaning staff ran out of leather polish," David retorted. "If Blaine weren't grounded from Tom Cruising, you'd be on your seventh cup by now, remember?"

"Children, focus." Wes glared around the room and smacked his gavel down sharply.

"Gavel strike and Wes being patronizing," Thad intoned. "Two drinks!"

"I'm gonna die young," Jeff groaned before he obediently threw back two more swallows of coffee.

Blaine stood up. "Come on, guys. Let's run through this before she gets back. Or before Nick collapses from caffeine overdose. It's pretty even odds right now as to which will happen first."

"Do I _have_ to sway back and forth?" Nick attempted to haul himself to a standing position and utterly failed. "I think I can hear my brain sloshing as it melts."

"Only for this one run through," his roommate replied consolingly. "You can keep it to a minimum if you need to. You do have to do the snapping, though." At this, Nick whimpered.

Assembling his overcaffeinated compatriots by the fireplace, Blaine silently counted them off into the introduction, then joined in.

_Tall and tan and young and lovely  
>The girl from Ipanema goes walking<br>And when she passes, each one  
>She passes goes - ah <em>

_When she walks, she's like a samba  
>That swings so cool and sways so gentle<br>That when she passes, each one  
>She passes goes - ah <em>

Despite the collective nausea and irritability, they actually sounded pretty good. Blaine grinned and spun around, sliding a couple of feet before beginning the third verse. He didn't notice half of the choir grimacing and closing their eyes as his movement touched off a brief fit of vertigo.

_Oh, but I watch her so sadly  
><em>_How can I tell her I love her  
><em>_Yes I would give my heart gladly  
><em>_But each day, when she walks to the sea  
><em>_She looks straight ahead, not at me_

_Tall, and tan, and young, and lovely  
>The girl from Ipanema goes walking<br>And when she passes, I smile  
>But she doesn't see<br>She doesn't see_

In the middle of the lyric-free bridge, the door creaked open just enough to allow Holly to peek in. Blaine shrugged apologetically at the substitute, who muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Jesus Christ it never ends," and vanished, the door snapping shut behind her. The angry clack of her heels walking away from the rehearsal hall took a long time to fade out.

The sharp noises echoed even more pervasively through the heads of the afflicted singers, who immediately revoked their pledges to bring fruit baskets of gratitude to Holly. Had she known, she wouldn't have minded in the least and might have slammed a few more doors just to ensure it.

"Advisor ran off in a huff because of whatever problem she has with Astrud Gilberto, everybody drink when we're done," Thad called out over the background doo-wopping. Somewhere in the middle of the baritone section, Nick's "doop doo doo" vocalizations slurred momentarily into a pained whine.

Blaine picked up the last two verses and brought the song home.

_Oh, but I watch her so sadly  
>How can I tell her I love her<br>Yes I would give my heart gladly  
>But each day, when she walks to the sea<br>She looks straight ahead, not at me __  
><em>

_Tall, tan, young, and lovely  
>The girl from Ipanema goes a-walking<br>And when she passes, I smile  
>But she doesn't see<br>She doesn't see me  
><em>_She never sees me_

With a flourish, he spun one last time and they brought the number to a close, clapping his hands in satisfaction. "Excellent. You all sounded great!" He turned to face them. "Oh, wow, but you all look _terrible. _Nick, bathroom, now." The baritone needed no further encouragement, beginning a slow, painful-looking shuffle across the room. He encountered Holly at the door.

"Oh, is it safe to come back now?" She held the door open so the afflicted teen could escape, closing it more gently behind her when she came further into the room. "Jeez, you guys. You look like you just lived through an all-night bender at Warhol's Factory."

The boys exchanged confused glances and whatever shrugs before Blaine spoke up. "I was going to have them run through 'Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head' and 'Do You Know The Way To San Jose' one more time, but I don't know that they're up to it." Sidling up to Holly, he whispered, "And if I have them do 'Blame It On The Bossanova,' zero-tolerance policy or not, I get the feeling that Trent would punch me."

"And I don't think a jury in the world would convict him. I'm pretty sure this rehearsal is violating the Geneva Convention. I could just kill Thad." She shook her head and spoke louder for the benefit of the other boys. "Okay, guys, we know you can sing these songs in your sleep. I'm not going to force you to do any more. We _will_ be meeting early on Sunday to go through the set before we head out to Shady Oaks, though."

"Oh. Miss Holliday, I might be a little late, remember? I'll be coming in from Lima," Blaine reminded her, an anxious look on his face.

The Advisor waved her hand dismissively. "I'm definitely not worried about you. Thad can fill in during the runthrough, _can't_ you, Mr. Lawrence?" Her smile was sweetly poisonous and mildly threatening, and it so unnerved the senior that he had no choice but to nod and stammer his agreement.

Holly was deeply displeased with the disruption to rehearsal and had already been irritable thanks to 'Girl From Ipanema,' so Thad was fairly lucky that state law prohibited her from doing anything more than bitching passive-aggressively at him. "Guys, just kind of take it easy for the rest of our scheduled time, okay? Do homework, go over the music – _quietly_ – whatever you want for the next hour. Just kind of chill."

The boys all distributed themselves around the various couches and chairs in the room, their groans and whimpers filling the air. Nick came back into the room and made a beeline to help Flint pin Jeff to a sofa until the blond sophomore came down from his high-flying caffeine buzz. Holly used the cover caused by the ensuing mayhem to wave Blaine over to the table they'd been at earlier, beginning a conversation with no preamble. "So, as I'm sure you know by now, you absolutely can't fool me. Talk."

He rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Miss Holliday. It's nothing new. I'm just preoccupied with Prom stuff. It's overfilling my schedule a little, that's all."

"Ah. So...no new developments whatsoever?" At his hesitation, she pounced. "Knew it. Spill, kid."

"You're a really nosy, pushy kind of teacher, you know this, right?"

"I like to think of myself as involved and concerned, really. But tomato, tomahto." She'd been leaning her head against the back wall and rolled it now to look at him. "Deflecting, Mr. Anderson. If I were Thad and you were taking part in his nutty experiment, I'd make you take a drink for that."

They both watched Thad tiptoeing around the room, observing and taking notes. "He's going to get himself killed," Blaine remarked. "And I am not going to do a single damn thing to stop them. He had a dozen other experiments he could have chosen from, I saw the list."

"And it would be up to two drinks, now."

"Fine." Blaine huffed out an indignant breath. "It's really nothing. I'm getting worked up over no big deal. Kurt's decided to wear a kilt to Prom."

"_Nice._" Holly's voice was full of approval and she nodded with a big smile on her face. "That's _awesome_."

"It's waving a red flag in front of a bull," Blaine blurted out without thinking. "They won't understand. He doesn't understand. Or he doesn't want to. Actually, yeah, I'm pretty sure it's the second thing."

"Okay. Do _you_ understand that there's a big difference between 'no big deal' and 'red flag in front of a bull,' Blaine? Like, if I didn't know you weren't bipolar, I'd think you were having a serious mood swing problem kind of difference?"

"Yes," the teenager grumbled, crossing his arms and slumping in his chair. "I know there's a difference. But it _is_ waving a red flag in front of a bull and it's _not_ a big deal and I can handle it."

"Yeah, um, you sounded like a petulant toddler right there so I'm going to say no, not quite." Holly shifted in her seat. "So, how come it's a big deal? I bet he's going to look great in it."

"You have no idea." A dreamy expression crossed his face and was promptly disrupted by an expertly tossed paper ball.

"Focus."

"There are times," Blaine snapped, "that you make it extraordinarily difficult to get along with you."

She was unperturbed and unrepentant. "Likewise."

He sighed. "Whatever. It's just that the guys at McKinley...you know them. You know they're Neanderthals and you know that he's pretty bullheaded himself when he wants to be – or maybe you don't know that, in which case, hi! Guess what. My boyfriend is stubborn."

"I had gotten that impression, yes." Holly's tone was drier than sandpaper.

"And they don't like him. He thinks they've just gotten tired of picking on him, especially since he has his own security detail, more or less. Maybe that's true, but I don't know. I worry that maybe they're just biding their time or waiting for an opportunity to do something and maybe he's just handing it to them. And I don't really want to risk getting feelings hurt. Or, you know. Worse."

"I can understand that." She doodled on a discarded piece of music, buying a second or two to figure out what to say next. "What's his reasoning for wearing the kilt?"

"Primarily? Because he looks fierce in it." The junior dropped his head and chuckled. "Which, he does, so point to him. And also because he really believes people don't care, that they've settled into indifference. And..." He paused. "Because he says he has done everything right, and he feels he deserves to just _be who he is_, without fear. Which is a really, really excellent point."

"And what's your reasoning for not liking it but being convinced you can handle it?"

"He's right that he deserves to be true to himself. And he's hot. And I'm a hormonal teenager."

"Ah." Holly nodded. She could understand that. "Doesn't stop you from worrying, but at least you came to the conclusions that you did after some thought and didn't just let him run over you this time. That's personal growth, and in only a few days! I'm proud of you."

"I can hear your sarcasm but I know you also mean that sincerely, so I'm ignoring it," Blaine informed her.

"You're catching on." She touched her nose with her finger and winked. "So my offer to be at Prom still stands, you know."

"Yeah. And thank you, but it's still a no. I'm probably on edge and overly prejudiced because of my own experiences. Or I'm right. Whichever the case, I've made my decisions, I'm just going to worry because that's what I do."

Holly shrugged. "All right. Then I'll leave you alone." She squinted around the room. "They look like they're plotting. Should I be suspicious?"

What she was seeing was various Warblers emerging from their caffeine crashes. They'd silently agreed to remain resolutely speechless for at least twenty minutes so as to not give Thad a chance to get _any_ of them to drink. Thad had threatened to add "Not Speaking On Purpose" to his list of drink criteria, but when Wes actually stood up and advanced on him with the Council gavel raised in a manner that promised violence against his person, he backed off. As a result, most of them were feeling less nauseated and groggy and were now whispering amongst themselves.

Jeff spoke up first. "Miss Holliday?"

"Yes, Mr. Pauling?"

"We were all wondering," he gestured around to point at the group he was with, which included his erstwhile captors. "Why is it you hate 'Girl From Ipanema' so much?"

"I've been wondering that too," Blaine said, tilting his head to look at her inquiringly. "It actually is a nice little song, I can't imagine what you find so offensive about it."

"Then you," Holly ground out, "have never spent hours upon hours upon hours of your time trying to get any kind of utilities set up in the state of Ohio. _Everyone_ uses it as their hold music. No one tells you that this is one of the hellish parts of becoming an adult. Learning how to cook, balancing a budget, it all pales in the face of developing a tolerance to terrible hold music."

"That's it? That's the only reason you don't like it?" Jeff was gaping in disbelief, making the teacher stand up and stalk over to where he was sitting. He cowered back into the couch cushions in justified fear at the terrible look on her face.

"When you are an adult, Jeffrey Pauling, I am going to _find you_ and ask you if you have any special feelings on the subject of the song 'Greensleeves,' which I promise is the only alternative to 'Girl From Ipanema' you will hear as you work desperately _just to get basic cable television service_."

All the sophomore could do was cheep in fear. Nick hurried to distract their Advisor before she could go on. She was extremely frightening when she was irked, apparently. Almost Blaine levels of frightening. "So what music _do _you like, Miss Holliday?"

Blinking, she turned to look at the darker haired boy. "Oh, me? Little of everything. Santana, the Stones, Cee-Lo Green, Adele. New stuff and old stuff. I think Leonard Cohen's my favorite." She smiled off into the distance. "Listening to him on a rainy day is my idea of Utopia."

"And you sing, too, right? Blaine said you were really good at that benefit concert he went to."

"You said that?" Holly turned to look at the tenor. At his embarrassed nod, she beamed. "Aw, Mr. Anderson, I'm never going to believe you again when you say you don't like me."

"So you can sing," Nick persisted. "We were wondering if we could convince you to sing for us, since we're really not up for it and we still have, like, thirty minutes left." Mostly he wanted to get her away from Jeff before that fellow said something else to set her off, and if she was singing, no one would be talking. A win-win, as far as Nick could see.

"Oh. Um. Sure, yes, I could do that." Spinning on her heel, she went to dig her iPod out of her bag and install it into the stereo system. "Let me pick something out here."

"You carry around backing tracks so you can sing at a moment's notice?" Wes was incredulous.

Holly waved her hand airily. "Sure. Why not? Don't most people?"

"I do." Blaine raised his hand and looked around the room. When everyone looked back at him and were clearly baffled, he put his hand down and shrugged. "It comes in handy."

"For what?" The puzzled look on Wes' face was priceless. "Are there that many opportunities for spontaneous performing?"

"Yes," replied Blaine and Holly in unison, the substitute continuing on to add, "At McKinley, you can pretty much always find a couple of jazz band kids to help out, too. They're just _there_."

No one was entirely certain how to respond to that, so they didn't. Holly took the opportunity to cue up her track and strode to the middle of the floor. A nod to Blaine had him pressing play, filling the room with funky guitar and an almost tribal drumbeat.

_I am a genius  
>I am a diamond<br>My pretty tongue gives you a freezer burn  
>I think above you in three dimensions<br>Come in here, you can never return  
><em>

She danced over to Jeff and yanked him to his feet, taking full advantage of the fact that he was the best dancer in the group. With a few hip bumps and a very skillful twirl, they were off.

_Like a hurricane  
>in the face of the wind and the rain<br>Like a hurricane  
>When you open you open a vein<em>

_I see your headlights across my ceiling  
>You are a puppet of a wish I made<br>They never touch me, they say I'm crazy  
>I was born from my mother's brain, my mother's brain<br>_

Holly let Jeff dip her before spinning out of his grip and playfully shoving him back down onto the couch she'd pulled him up off of.

_Like a hurricane  
>in the face of the wind and the rain<br>Like a hurricane  
>When you open you open a vein<em>

_You plant a seed in my mind  
>I walk around and I speak your message<br>For myself I don't know what to say  
>I walk around and I speak your message<em>

Completely disregarding the cleaning staff's prohibitions, Holly jumped up on one of the nearby couches for the last chorus, eliciting a whoop of approval from Blaine, who had decided that if anyone ever did a reality show following the adventures of Holly Holliday (he had also decided that someone definitely _should_), he wanted to be in charge of music and he was _totally_ going to license this tune as her theme song.

_Like a hurricane  
>In the face of the wind and the rain<br>Like a hurricane  
>When you open you open a vein<em>

_Like a hurricane  
><em>_In the face of the wind and the rain  
><em>_Like a hurricane  
><em>_Give me more give me more Novocain_

She leaped down off of the couch, smiling in triumph at the cheers and applause coming from the Warblers. Blaine was in the corner nodding and giving a thumbs up. Everyone was in a fantastic mood, which was why it was so unfortunate that Thad had to just go and ruin it.

"Couch jumping! Everyone drink!"

It was fortunate for the senior Councilman that the coffee in the cups had been cooling for quite a while before it was dumped unceremoniously over his head. Everyone thought that the forced cleanup and the detention that Holly had had to regretfully give them was completely worth it.

_**Author's Note:**__ You guys. The songs I had to listen to for this chapter, to be sure they'd fit the purpose for which they were intended and also could be feasibly adapted to a cappella work. Anyway. Despite Thad's reference to Astrud Gilberto, I actually used Frank Sinatra's version of 'Girl From Ipanema' as a reference. And here is where I confess that it's my loathing of 'Ipanema' that has infected Holly. Sorry. If you follow my LJ (a_glass_parade) then you know why I hate that perfectly nice song. Anyhow, Holly's song is "Hurricane" by Joan Osborne. _


	13. Falling, It Was Rain

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_Disclaimer: Glee and its characters are adorable, but not mine; I am only playing in Ryan Murphy's playground. This chapter runs concurrent with/behind the scenes of 'Prom Queen,' so please be aware of where you are in your Glee watching before proceeding. Rated T for language and homophobic cruelty._

**Chapter Twelve – Falling, It Was Rain**

"Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up!" Kurt's entirely too chipper chanting was accompanied by the staccato thump of his feet on the stairs. Blaine hardly had time to brace himself before his boyfriend leaped onto the sofa and tackled him over, blue eyes bright with anticipation. "It's Prom Day, Blaine!"

Blaine rubbed the sleep out of his own eyes with the heel of his hand. "Is it? You should have said something sooner. Gosh, Kurt, you haven't said a single word all week."

"Stop that." Kurt swatted his hand away from his face. "The skin around the eyes is delicate, I keep telling you not to rub at it. And don't make fun of me for being excited about Prom. It's a rite of passage!"

"Graduation is a rite of passage. Weddings are a rite of passage. Prom is the super fancy version of Homecoming, with extra sequins to better catch the light and illuminate the faces of the people who are beating you up." Even he was surprised by the snarky bitterness in his tone. He was less surprised when Kurt pulled back with an offended look on his face. Blaine was, quite frankly, offended at himself for that one.

"I know you don't really _like_ this idea, Blaine, but if you really didn't want to do this with me, you could have said no. If you're just going to make the night miserable for both of us - "

"No, no. Kurt. I'm sorry." Blaine bit his lip and reached over to take Kurt's slender hands in his own. "It's my self defense mechanism. I really want to go to Prom with you, honestly I do. I'm just on edge. You know why."

The taller boy softened a little, enough to tuck himself into Blaine's arms and look up at him sweetly with his changeable eyes. "I do. And Blaine, I am happier than you will ever know that you had a horrible, awful experience and you decided to do this for me anyway. I will spend as _much_ time as is necessary making it up to you."

Blaine eyeballed his boyfriend speculatively. "I hope you know that I'm going to hold you to that." He dipped his head down to kiss Kurt softly, not at all minding when the other boy clenched a handful of t-shirt in his fist and pulled him closer, and minding even less than that when he felt his lower lip sucked into Kurt's mouth and gently bitten.

Man, for someone who referred to himself as a person possessing all the sexuality of a baby penguin, Kurt had really caught on to the fundamentals of great kissing pretty damn fast. Blaine couldn't stop a breathy groan from escaping his mouth.

"I wanna come down there and be able to fit an entire volume of the encyclopedia between the two of you." Burt Hummel's voice preceded a rapid thumping stairway descent by only a few seconds. The pair leaped apart as fast as they could, but were uncoordinated enough that Kurt's flailing hand caught Blaine square in the nose.

"Ow! Dammit!"

"Oh my God, Blaine! I'm so sorry!"

So when Burt made it to the bottom of the stairs, he was greeted by the sight of his son kneeling practically on top of his boyfriend, trying to pull Blaine's hand from his nose. The darker haired boy was trying to shove him off, hollering, "Led me up, Kurdt, dammid, led me ged to the bathroom and we'll _both_ look, okay?"

All Burt could do was shrug. "Language, Blaine," he cautioned mildly as he passed into the kitchen, ignoring the incredulous stares this got him from both teenagers.

Kurt struggled to his feet, pulling Blaine up after him and into the downstairs half-bath. "Let me see," he ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. Wincing, the injured teen peeled his hand off of his face.

"Oh. Id's fide. It just hurds worse than it looks." He examined his nose in the mirror. "I do't dink id's even swelling."

"We'll get ice on it, just in case. It's obviously swelling in the back a little, at least. You sound ridiculous. " Kurt leaned in for a closer inspection. "I can't believe I did that. I'm so, so sorry, Blaine."

"Sorry for what?" Finn poked his head into the room, causing his startled stepbrother to jump. Fortunately for his abused nose, Blaine managed to duck Kurt's flying limbs that time.

"Kurdt hid be in de nodse," he offered, straightening back up to fully standing.

Finn blinked. "Dude. We've got to stop smacking the people we're dating in the face. People are gonna think something's wrong with this family."

Kurt and Blaine looked at each other, then at Finn. "Finn...you do remember that you're not dating Rachel, right?" Kurt's question was careful, his tone of voice not dissimilar to one a police officer might use to talk someone down off of a ledge.

"Oh. Oh. Yeah. Right. I don't know what..." The lanky quarterback turned and hastily made his way back up to his bedroom without finishing his sentence. The other two teenagers could only stare at each other for several minutes until Kurt broke the silence.

"Oooookaaaaaaay," he drawled. "So now that we've gotten that awkward moment is out of the way, why don't I go get an icepack for you before my brother remembers that hunger trumps awkward and comes back downstairs?"

"Workds for be," Blaine shrugged as his boyfriend left. Lowering the lid to the toilet, he sat down to wait. _What was that saying about dress rehearsals, again? _he wondered to himself. _Oh, right. _"If the dreds rehearsal suckds, the show'll be gread," he muttered aloud.

"What's that?" The pocket door to the bathroom slid open, revealing not Kurt, but Burt standing there with an handful of ice cubes in a dishtowel.

"Nothigd, sir."

Kurt's father looked at him skeptically, but let it go. "I got ice for you." Stepping into the bathroom, Burt slid the door shut behind him and handed Blaine the bundle. "Put that on your face. And stay sitting down, I want to talk to you."

_Oh, God, he's finally going to call me out for telling him to give Kurt a sex ed talk two weeks before I started dating him,_ Blaine thought in a panic, feeling his eyes grow to the size of tea saucers as he pressed the makeshift icepack to his nose. _I swear I didn't know I was going to end up dating him at the time, Mr. Hummel!_

The elder Hummel barked out a dry laugh at the expression on Blaine's face. "Don't worry, kiddo. I'm not going to ask you about your intentions towards my son – well, not today, anyway." He crouched down, letting his hands dangle between his knees as he looked earnestly into the teenager's eyes. "I wanna talk to you about tonight."

"What about tonight?" He was pleased to hear his voice returning to normal already. If slightly shaky with terror. Facing your boyfriend's dad in a tiny room was nervewracking, no matter the context. He felt weirdly like an injured gazelle facing down a hungry lion.

"I know you don't want to do this. Don't worry, Kurt didn't tell me any specifics," the older man clarified, holding his hand up in reassurance. "I'm just getting the idea from a few things he's said and that I've overheard. I want to tell you first that I'm impressed with you being scared and doing this for Kurt anyway."

"Oh." Blaine wasn't sure what to say to that. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome." Burt hesitated. "Second...I need to know that if anything at all goes wrong for you boys, you'll call me. I know Finn and the Glee kids are going to be there and even that Karofsky idiot's supposed to be keeping an eye on you two, but I want _your_ word that you'll be on the horn to me ASAP if anything happens. Got it?"

"Yes, sir. I've got it. You have my word."

"Good. All right, that's all I wanted." The burly mechanic stood up and shoved the pocket door open. "He's all yours, Kurt!"

Blaine let out a sigh of relief and slumped back against the toilet tank as Kurt bustled past his father to come kneel at his boyfriend's side. "Oh, God, I'm sorry. Was it too terrible?"

"Nah, it's fine. He just wanted to make sure he didn't need to wait up with a shotgun," Blaine teased.

Kurt went even paler than his normal ivory shade. "Oh...Blaine...I don't...I'm so...how..."

"Shut up, silly." He wrapped his arms around the other boy. "I'm kidding. But seriously, it's nothing. He just wanted to make sure I was okay with tonight." He dropped a kiss on Kurt's temple and let his lips rest there for a moment longer. "Your dad's pretty awesome, you know?"

"I know." A sweet smile curved Kurt's lips. "I'm lucky. How's your nose?"

_Let's hope your good luck holds out tonight,_ Blaine thought worriedly as he stood and helped Kurt to his feet. "Better already. I can totally smell the waffles your stepmom is making. We'd better get some before Finn gets wind of them."

And without another word, he tugged Kurt out of the bathroom behind him, thinking he'd never done a better job of avoiding having to fully answer a question in his life.

He wondered if Miss Holliday would be exasperated or proud of him.

* * *

><p>Blaine was glad that Kurt was too immersed in his own Prom toilette to pay much attention to his boyfriend's. The time alone left the nervous teenager time to sort through his thoughts and feelings, let him calm down a crucial bit more before they left for the dance. Mostly, he spent the time that he wasn't using on his hair or on assembling his tuxedo to remember things.<p>

Like, when Blaine was little, his best friend had been a boy named Toby. Toby was a funny kid. He believed in superstitions, number rituals, lucky charms, that kind of thing. Before tests, Toby would say things like, "If I find five buckeyes on the ground before school, I'll pass the math quiz." Or, "If that dog barks when I pass it, I'll win the recess races later."

Blaine was remembering that as he carefully tied his bowtie and helped Finn with his. They'd managed this feat with a combination of Blaine stretching up on his toes and the much taller boy crouching down a little bit. Fortunately for both of them, Blaine was fairly competent with formal wear, so he could get it tied before either of them lost their balance and ended up in an embarrassingly awkward position.

"Hey, dude," Finn spoke as he checked his hair in the mirror. "You've been kind of jumpy all day. You okay?"

Blaine shot the cuffs of his dress shirt and shrugged. "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

Even Finn wasn't oblivious enough to let that slide. "Okay, so you're not _really_ fine. Don't worry, man. You know we're all going to be looking out for you guys, right?"

He sighed and smiled. "Yes, Finn. I know."

Distracted, he went back to adjusting the various bits and pieces of his tuxedo ensemble, still thinking about Toby and how he would knock on wood for luck and press four leaf clovers between wax paper and the pages of dictionaries.

He was remembering how Toby never stepped on a sidewalk crack, ever, as Kurt came down the stairs, looking more amazingly gorgeous than anyone had a right to be, the black of his jacket setting off his fair skin and the shifting oceans of his eyes to excellent effect. For one particular exciting moment, all thoughts of Toby and luck and rituals flew from Blaine's mind as the various straps and buckles on Kurt's outfit called up all kinds of deeply inappropriate fantasies.

He must have made some kind of noise, because Burt glared at him threateningly for a full ten minutes while they took pictures and rushed to get out the door.

Normal thought functions resumed when they were holding hands and singing along to the radio on the way to the school. Now Blaine was remembering how Toby would wish on stars and loose eyelashes and how the boy truly believed that one day he'd be able to follow a rainbow to its very end and see the legendary pot of gold there.

When Blaine's phone buzzed with a text message and it was Miss Holliday cheekily sending, _Courage! ;)_ he immediately saw it as a good omen.

Blaine was hoping and wishing on everything he believed in – and more than a few things that he didn't – that tonight would go well. For Kurt's sake, mostly, since this was so important to him. But also because at some point during the day, he'd started entertaining a particular thought that had only gathered strength as afternoon blue skies shifted into evening twilight. When Kurt had descended the stairs in his kilt and Blaine was suddenly utterly convinced he never wanted to leave the other boy's side again, it had solidified.

_If Prom goes okay, _he began to tell himself, holding to it like a mantra, _if it goes well, then I'll know that I should transfer to McKinley._

* * *

><p>And for the first half – no, three-quarters – of the night, it actually seemed like it was going to work.<p>

They danced – not with each other, not slow dancing, but general high-school-dance-dancing with their friends. Rachel looked especially pretty in a pale pink tulle dress, and Blaine told her so as they freaked out all of the non-Glee kids by literally waltzing to Finn and Quinn's creditable cover of 'Picture'. "Thank you for the compliment, Blaine." She beamed at him, pausing their dance long enough to kiss him on the tip of his nose. She didn't notice his wince; it was still a bit tender. "You know, I normally despise Kid Rock and I don't of course care for Quinn at all, but I have to admit they're doing a really nice job on this song," the pocket-sized girl sighed melodramatically as he twirled her, the layers of her chiffon skirt swirling prettily.

"It's big of you to say so." Blaine struggled to hide his smile. It wouldn't do to piss off the only girl he knew who could indulge his whimsy for ballroom dancing at inappropriate times.

"I know it is," she replied matter of factly. "I'm very proud of myself for experiencing personal growth in that regard. Have you talked to Kurt about your transfer?"

Between Rachel and Miss Holliday, Blaine's brain was adapting remarkably well to rapid-fire, context-free changes of subject. He was beginning to idly consider studying law in college, where such a skill would undoubtedly come in handy. The drawback being, of course, that law wasn't as much fun as acting or music. Never mind. "Not yet. It's been sort of a busy time for both of us."

"But you _are_ going to, right?"

"Yes, Rachel. I am. Soon, okay?"

She tipped her head to the side, her chestnut ponytail spilling curls over her shoulder. "I hear 'Mamma Mia' is coming to Columbus in December." The expression on her face aimed for innocent, but the mischievous twinkle in her eyes caused it to fall wide of the mark. Blaine sighed and thanked whatever deity was listening for arranging it so that he had an allowance big enough to cover Rachel Berry's special brand of blackmail.

"You're impossible, Rachel. I just want you to know that."

"You're the only person I'll allow to get away with such an insulting remark. I'm merely complicated." She sniffed. "I'll let you off the hook for now. Are you going to dance with him?"

They looked over at where Kurt was tangled up in Brittany Pierce's arms, leaning as far away as the leggy blonde's grip would permit. "I know we have a history," they could hear him yelping in a panic, "And you're very pretty, Brittany, but this is really severely inappropriate."

"I can't help it. You look even hotter in a skirt than Santana does."

"It's a kilt - !"

Blaine and Rachel exchanged looks and twirled far away so that Kurt would neither see nor hear them collapsing in helpless laughter. "I think you mean rescue him," he choked out, "and no, I'm not. Why deprive the students of McKinley High of the rare opportunity to view live, high-quality comedy for free?"

She swatted him lightly on the arm. "You're mean. But correct." They made their way to the punch bowl for a refresher. "I meant later, anyway," Rachel went on as she sipped her drink. "Are you going to dance with him later? A real dance like I want with Finn but I'll never get because of that scheming harpy he calls a girlfriend? Not that I'm bitter."

"Really? You could have fooled me." Blaine made sure his affectionate smile took the sting out of the words. "As for the dance...maybe." He gulped down his own drink. "I want to. I really want to. I know he does, too. I'm just on edge. This isn't the friendliest environment."

"I'm sure no one will care. And you'll have an opportunity while I sing," his friend pointed out hopefully. "I'm doing a slow song next."

"Yeah, you never said what it was?"

"No. No, I didn't, did I?" Her smile promised drama, making Blaine wince. "I have to go sing now, actually. See you later!" With a quick hug, she was off in a swirl of sparkles and tulle. Almost immediately, her place was taken by a glaring Kurt.

"Don't think I didn't notice you failing to retrieve me from Brittany's clutches," he spat bitchily. "I will make you pay for that."

"Promise?"

"You're incorrigible." Kurt rolled his eyes and gave Blaine's hand a quick squeeze. "Ooh, it's Rachel's turn. She wouldn't tell anyone what she was singing. Did she tell you?"

"Nope."

"Oh, boy."

"Yep." They watched Rachel staring holes into Finn's head as she sang. She was doing a very nice job at covering 'Jar of Hearts,' really. It was too bad the performance was slightly marred by the glares being exchanged between Quinn and Rachel and Finn and Rachel's date Jesse St. James.

"Jesse's a complete jerk," Kurt sighed, "And I still don't know why Rachel forgave him for the total dick move he pulled last year with the egging, but he's undeniably handsome, a great singer, and better equipped to handle her drama princess crap than Finn is. I love my brother, but I wish Rachel would try to make it work with Jesse for _all _our sakes."

"It would be nice, wouldn't it?" Blaine shook his head, amused. "I have to say, I have never been more glad that our relationship is relatively drama free."

"Absolutely," agreed his boyfriend. "My only problem with it at all is the distance."

Blaine cast a sidelong glance at Kurt. Maybe this was a good a time as any to bring up the potential transfer? Steeling himself, he opened his mouth. "Well, you know, I could - "

"Yo, Anderson!" Puck pushed carelessly through the crowd to get to them. "Britt and Tina are ready to go when you are, dude."

He gritted his teeth. "Ah, oh, thanks, Puck." Brushing Kurt's hand briefly in farewell, he followed the Mohawked teen to the stage.

"And don't worry, dude. We got Kurt in our sights." Puck tilted his head side to side, his neck making frightening cracking noises. "I don't trust Karofsky. Fuckin' douche. I don't care if Santana does think she's got his balls in a vise, _I'm_ watching your boy."

Blaine was oddly touched. "Thanks, man."

"No sweat." Puck smiled cheerfully and gave him a slap on the back that only excellent reflexes prevented him from staggering under. "Break an arm, or whatever the fuck it is Rachel says."

"Close enough." He jogged up the steps to take his place at the microphone, winking at his backup singers as he did. It always amazed him how casually New Directions had accepted him into their ranks, even though he didn't even go to their school. As near as he could tell, Kurt was family; therefore, Kurt's boyfriend was family. The ease of their acceptance was breathtaking, not at all like the Warblers. He loved both wholeheartedly, but New Directions felt a little freer and easier and freewheeling and completely madcap. A family rather than something akin to a fraternity.

He had to admit he found that addicting after a year in uniform.

Despite Puck's promise, he couldn't help but keep a weather eye on the crowd as he belted out 'I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You'. It surprised him when he saw Jesse and Rachel all but making out on the floor. _Huh. Well, get it, Rachel_. She seemed receptive to the attention and Jesse seemed more than willing to give it. Good. She deserved to have a nice night with a date who at the very least seemed to like her.

So he was even more surprised when Finn lunged across the dance floor and picked a slapfight with the former Vocal Adrenaline star.

Blaine kept up the energy for his performance, managing to distract a large chunk of the crowd from the fight. He watched the crazy cheerleading coach hustle the would-be gladiators out of the gym, followed closely by their protesting dates.

Fantastic.

Hopping up from where he'd fallen to his knees at the end of his song, he hurled himself back down the stage steps and skidded over to where he'd last seen Kurt. "What's going on?" he asked breathlessly, noting that Kurt looked like he was ready to eviscerate something. Oh, good. Always a fun time.

"My stepbrother," Kurt snipped, "indecisive lout that he can be at times, has decided that he's jealous of Jesse. Never mind that _he_ dumped Rachel, never mind that he came to Prom with _Quinn_, who has a touchy temper at the best of times. Oh no. Finn wants to have _and_ eat his cake. And now he's gotten himself thrown out of Prom. Quinn is going to have a _stroke_."

"Wow. Great. So we're probably going to have to work to keep Rachel safely out of Quinn's line of sight."

Kurt nodded. "Pretty much. And here I thought Finn was supposed to be the one looking out for us." He sighed dramatically. "Should have known, really."

Blaine spotted McKinley's principal making his way to the stage. "Well, this ought to help distract Quinn. It looks like they're about to announce the Prom King and Queen."

Sure enough, the pretty blonde swayed regally back into the gym as if nothing was wrong and wound her way through the crowd to the stage with the other nominees. Kurt fluttered his hand. "She is a massive bitch with incredible emotional problems, but my God, no one was more suited to wear a tiara than Quinn Fabray. Plastic surgery aside."

"Plastic...? Oh, ew!" Blaine's sudden exclamation had nothing to do with Quinn's nose job. Rather, it was aimed for the beefy jock being crowned Prom King. "I can't believe they elected Karofsky. People actually bought his Bully Whips scheme?"

"I think it was more Santana's idea," Kurt replied absently. "That must have won her Queen and the public's too scared of her to not vote her date King. Ugh, like they needed the validation."

This made so much sense that it was like a punch to their stomachs when that idiot principal announced Kurt Hummel as the Prom Queen via write-in vote.

* * *

><p>"Stop, stop! Kurt!" Blaine chased his seething, furious boyfriend down the hallways. He'd never known a person could run so fast in heavy Doc Martens. It didn't help that he himself was in standard slick-soled dress shoes. He stopped running before his feet could skid out from under him. "Please, just stop, come on."<p>

Kurt spun around, face tight with anger and his voice choked with tears. "Don't you get how stupid we were? We had thought that because no one was teasing us or beating us up that no one cared. Like some kind of progress had been made. But it's still the same."

_No, __**you**__ thought it had changed. I was sure nothing had, but I didn't want to be right, Kurt, I never wanted to be right,_ Blaine thought. But he confined his response to a simple, "It's just a stupid joke." He knew it was more than that, knew it full well. He was just afraid to say anything more in case he let the truly unforgivable out. _I will never, ever say I told you so, I won't I won't I won't!_

"No, it's not," Kurt spat. "All that hate, and they were just afraid to say it out loud. So they did it by secret ballot. I'm one big, anonymous practical joke." He turned and kept moving down the hallway. Blaine took a deep breath and followed him.

"So, what are you going to do?"

Kurt stopped and shook his head, his hand in front of his mouth. "I'm not going back in there. No way."

Blaine lowered himself to sit on the cold linoleum, not caring that he was probably getting all kinds of dust and grime on his rental tux. He pushed to sit against the lockers and drew his knees up so he could rest his arms on them. Silently, he watched as Kurt began to pace the hallway, alternating ranting and sobbing for long, long minutes.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "Would you at least sit down?" Kurt paused, but only briefly before resuming his quest to wear a hole in the hallway flooring. Blaine tried again. "Do you want to go? We don't _have_ to go back in there."

"Wasn't this Prom supposed to be about redemption?" The look on Kurt's face was both raw and bitter. "About taking away that lump you had in your throat from running away? If we leave, all it's going to do is give me a lump, too."

_It was never about me, I did this for you,_ his brain screamed, but again, he restrained himself. "So what do you want to do?"

Steely resolve flashed in Kurt's eyes, now a stormy gray-blue. "I'm going to go back in there," he breathed, pointing back at the gym, "and get coronated. I'm going to show them that it doesn't matter if they're yelling at me or whispering behind my back. They can't touch me." He knelt down in front of Blaine and took his hands. "They can't touch _us._ Or what we have."

Blaine nodded and smiled, nervous and proud all at once. "Okay, then." He patted at his jacket. "Ah. Here we go. I knew I had some." He pulled a packet of tissues out from his pocket.

"What, you knew there was going to be crying?" Kurt allowed a half-smile to turn up his mouth.

"I'm always ready for anything. Besides, it's Prom," Blaine shrugged, smiling back. "Aren't there always tears? Although I did expect it to be Rachel, not you..." He held the pack out to his boyfriend, who took a couple of tissues and spent some time mopping up his face and blowing his nose. When Blaine was sure the other boy was done, he got to his feet and extended his hand again. "You ready for this?"

Without a word, Kurt put his hand in Blaine's and allowed himself to be helped up. Hand in hand, they returned to the gym.

It had to have been at least fifteen minutes, yet the dance hadn't resumed. Students were standing around, whispering in various tones of nervousness, malice, and concern. No one had thought to put music on or even try to put any of the remaining members of New Directions on stage to create a distraction.

So when they came through the doors and everyone turned to look, silence fell like a smothering blanket. The stares felt like a thousand lasers on Blaine's skin. It took everything he had just to follow Kurt into the room.

Their steps echoed in the eerie silence.

Blaine stopped at the halfway point, waving a little to encourage Kurt onward. The pale boy with the resolute look on his face moved as if he were walking through water, slowly ascending the steps and heading towards the principal – who, to his very miniscule credit, looked at least slightly ashamed as he reached up to place the crown on Kurt's head and hand him the scepter.

Kurt stepped in front of the microphone. After an endless minute, a cocky smirk twisted his mouth. "Eat your heart out, Kate Middleton," he drawled as if this kind of thing happened to him every day. The crowd actually erupted in cheers, led by Rachel – who was sporting a fresh red mark on her cheek. Blaine made a mental note to ask about that later.

And then the idiot, idiot principal reclaimed the microphone. "And now behold the tradition of our 2011 Prom King and Queen here in their first dance."

_Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,_ Blaine thought incredulously. _How is this stupid man allowed to remain principal? Has he __**ever**__ made a good judgment call in his life?_

Kurt and Karofsky made their way down to the dance floor, tension written in every line of their bodies. Blaine could see them having a hasty, whispered conversation and began pushing closer to try and make it out, to try and protect Kurt, something, anything, whatever.

Before he could get there, Karofsky took off, leaving Kurt to spin and look after him, then to stand uncertain and alone in the middle of the dance floor. Blaine could see the other boy's chin coming up in that awful, arrogant, prideful way he knew so well, had seen covering up hurt a dozen times or more. He wanted to do anything to make that look go away and never come back.

Someone had gotten Santana and Mercedes up on stage, where they tentatively started to sing 'Dancing Queen'. Blaine stifled an exasperated groan – because really? _This_ song? - as he shoved people aside and managed to finally break through somewhere behind Kurt. Before he could think too hard about it, he strode out onto the dance floor. "Excuse me."

Kurt turned. Astonished blue eyes met determined hazel ones. Blaine held out his hand.

"May I have this dance?"

* * *

><p>Kurt could also play a mean game of Everything Is Fine, but eventually, cracks began to show.<p>

They'd made a brief appearance at Santana's post-Prom party, citing the Shady Oaks Benefit as their excuse to duck out early. "Business in Westerville tomorrow, folks, got to be up bright and early and this face doesn't moisturize itself!" Kurt's smile was bright as steel and brittle as burnt sugar. "Too bad, that'd save me some time in the morning."

As they hustled out, Blaine gripped Kurt's hand like a lifeline. "I'll skip tomorrow. Stay with you. Okay?"

The other boy pulled his hand free and strode to the car. "You can't do that. You know you can't let them down. Not with this kind of notice." He stood by the car door, his face blank. "But I'm not going. I just. I can't. I can't put on a good face for them and I'd want to and Blaine, I can't, I can't." The mask crumbled away and tears, never far from the surface this night, began to well up again. Blaine scrambled to get to him and wrap his arms around him.

"I know. It's okay, Kurt. You don't have to do anything. You've been amazing tonight. You can do what you want." He whispered into his boyfriend's ear, held him like what they felt for each other could solve every problem anywhere. Tears soaked his neck and the shoulder of his rental tux. He didn't care. "You are the most amazing person in the world. Fuck them for not knowing that."

Kurt hiccupped, then laughed, soft and low. "Blaine. Things must really be dire for you to drop the f-bomb."

"My boyfriend is crying on my shoulder and I want to go slowly torture everyone who was involved in making it happen. Profanity is the least of my worries." Blaine moved his hand up and down Kurt's spine, trying to impart what small comfort he could offer. "Look, can I at least come back after the show tomorrow? Will you let me do that?"

Kurt pulled back to retrieve a handkerchief from a pocket inside his jacket, blowing his noise as quietly as possible. His face was torn between that infuriating arrogant mask of pride and the desire of a broken person to surround themselves with as much love as they can gather. Finally, he nodded. "I don't want you to use so much gas – it's so _bad_ for the environment – but to hell with it, I think I've earned something after this nightmare. So please. Please, yes, come back."

"I will." Blaine unlocked the car door and opened it for Kurt, tucking in a stray pleat of kilt that threatened to get trapped. "Let's get you home for now. You need to sleep."

They arrived back at Kurt's home to find Burt and Finn sitting at the kitchen table, glasses of warm milk waiting for them. As promised, Blaine had called Burt and given him a quick rundown of what had happened. One look at Kurt's stricken face, though, had them sending him upstairs with his milk and leaving Blaine to fully explain what had happened.

He decided fairly quickly that the CIA needed to hire Burt Hummel and Finn Hudson as interrogation experts. They'd been able to extract things he'd forgotten he noticed, sly smirks and hooded glances on people he didn't know but Finn could identify from the description. The principal's action – or inaction, depending on how you looked at it – invited particularly intense ire from Burt, who was promising to cause serious problems with the school board.

But eventually, recounting the whole sordid tale began to take its toll on Blaine, and he wanted nothing more than to go hide in bed for a few days. Seeing his distress and exhaustion, Burt finally called an end to the discussion and sent him off to his bed on the couch, where he fell into an uneasy, unhappy sleep, wishing he could be upstairs with Kurt.

It was only a couple of hours later that an out of place noise wormed its way into his subconscious. He woke up to the sound of softly falling rain and gently crashing thunder. But it was clear black skies and moonlight outside of the living room windows, and there hadn't been a forecast for rain. Disoriented and confused, he pushed up to a sitting position and tried to work out what was happening.

"It's a rain sounds machine." Finn's voice, fuzzy with sleep, floated out of the darkness. Blaine was already edgy from the events of the night; he jumped and gasped with fear. "Sorry, man. Didn't mean to scare you."

He tried to calm down and breathe. "I...it's okay. Or it will be."

The tall teenager loped into the living room, holding a glass of water that he'd clearly just retrieved from the kitchen. "The machine is Kurt's," he went on as he settled into the recliner by the couch. "He hasn't been using it. Guess he needed it tonight."

"Oh. Does he...does he have sleeping problems?" Blaine hated the hesitant skipping in his voice; it was always there but got worse when he was stressed out.

"Nope." Finn took a big gulp of his water and stared stolidly across the room, looking at nothing. "Think he got it back when the stuff with Karofsky got really bad. He'd turn it on..." he trailed off, mouth tightening in anger. "He'd turn it on when he didn't want me to hear him cry."

_Oh._ Blaine's heart turned slow, churning somersaults in his chest, aching with shared hurt for his boyfriend. "Kurt..." he whispered.

Finn glanced at him, an opaque look on his face. "Go upstairs, dude."

"Sorry?"

"Go upstairs." He gestured towards the stairs with his water glass, a little of the liquid splashing out and landing on a Sports Illustrated on the end table. "Go be with Kurt."

Blaine shook his head. "I can't. Your stepdad will - "

"Burt's the one who sent me down here, man. He knows you're not going to do anything, especially not tonight. Seriously. Go. He needs you."

Over the sound of a manufactured storm, they heard the heaving sigh of someone who was trying and failing to stop themselves from sobbing with heartbreak. Finn's hand clenched into a fist and his look became less opaque, grew more helplessly furious as he gazed up the stairs. "I could kill them. I _will_ fucking kill them if I ever find out who they are, fucking assholes."

"I know." Blaine shoved up to his feet. "But I get first dibs, Finn."

"I was supposed to be looking out for him." Finn's voice cracked with suppressed rage. "I never saw it coming. Never heard anything. And then I get thrown out so I can't be there for him when it happens. What kind of brother am I?"

Blaine rubbed his face tiredly. "It would have still happened even if you'd been there, Finn. Don't torture yourself. It was beyond anything any of us could stop..." He stepped up next to the football player and put a hand on his shoulder, standing for a moment in solidarity before patting him gently and moving on up the stairs.

The window at the end of the hallway spilled silvery light to illuminate Blaine's path to Kurt's slightly open door. He tapped softly before pushing it open a little more, just enough so he could slide inside. "Kurt? Kurt, it's me."

"Blaine?" Kurt's voice was clogged with tears and snot, his breathing ragged over the sound of the rain machine. "You can't be in here."

"Yes, I can." He padded into the room and slipped quickly under the heavy, furry comforter. "It's okay." His hands sought out and found his boyfriend, pulled the slighter boy close into his chest. "We're fine."

Kurt's responding giggle was more than slightly hysterical. "What...what about any of this is 'fine' to you, Blaine?"

"This is, for one thing." He ran his hand up and down the soft skin of Kurt's arm. "That I get to be here for you is a good thing, right? Instead of you being alone."

The other boy nodded, slowly. Blaine moved his hand so that his fingers were just stroking the edges of his boyfriend's hair just over his ear. He pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. "You're so much better than any of them. You know this. They just proved it a little more tonight."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt." Kurt's pajamas rustled against the sheets as he turned over to face Blaine. Tears made his blue-green-gray eyes shine too brightly in the moonlight. "Facing them on Monday, knowing the _contempt_ they feel for me. In its own way that's worse than being shoved into the lockers. It's different somehow."

"I know. Shh." He ran his fingers through Kurt's hair – it was a measure of how worked up the other boy was that he was able to get away with it. "They don't matter. They just don't. You know that whate-"

"Blaine Anderson, if you quote Nietzsche at me, I am not going to be responsible for what I do next." Kurt's voice was shaky with tears and laughter and that still-present hysteria. "Can you just hold me? Don't tell me how amazing I am, or how much better I am than them. Just hold me, please. And don't laugh at me, because I'm about to do a full on ugly cry."

"I never would. Never." He pulled his boyfriend close and tucked that beautiful, tragic head into his chest, wrapping his arms around Kurt just as the boy fell completely apart. But Blaine couldn't just stay silent, couldn't stop himself from murmuring Kurt's own words into his ear while he wept. "They can't touch what we have," he whispered, holding tight, feeling like if he didn't, the shuddering would tear the other boy to pieces. "Don't ever forget that. They can't touch us. They can't touch what we have."

The sound of artificial rain mingled with Kurt's tears until Blaine couldn't tell anymore where one ended and the other began.

**_Author's Note: _**_The title of this chapter comes from a quote in 'Silence - A Fable' by Edgar Allen Poe. The full text is, "It was night, and the rain fell; and falling, it was rain, but, having fallen, it was blood." From a metaphorical standpoint I felt it apt._

_This was hard to write. Watching 'Prom Queen' again for reference made my stomach churn. I'm always so proud of Kurt in the end, but it hurts to watch. And I always wondered what Blaine was holding back in that conversation, Mr. Epitome of Visible Restraint that he is._

_Thank you for your reviews and alerts. I hope to get the next chapter up before I leave for vacation on Wednesday but I can't promise anything. I do promise that I will be working on it with every spare moment I have._


	14. Repercussions

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_Disclaimer: Glee is not mine; I'm just borrowing it. Rated T for possible language and allusions to homophobic cruelty. Chapter takes place immediately following the events of "Prom Queen" so please be aware of where you are in your Glee viewing schedule when reading. Chapter Thirteen of 'Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton' is brought to you by the great folks of Delta Airlines and Gogo In-Flight Wireless Internet, and is being published from a cruising altitude of 30,000 feet. Emergency exits are located to the front, sides, and rear..._

**Chapter Thirteen - Repercussions**

"Thad, I know you're just filling in for the rehearsal, but I want 100% from you! No one ever got ahead by sitting on their butt." Holly's irritation was clear in her voice as it rang out across the rehearsal hall. "You get one more run through before we have to go. Kill it or I kill you - need I remind you that none of these guys will stop me if I try? _And_ they'd totally give me a solid alibi."

The substitute gestured expansively around the room at the other Warblers, who were all nodding enthusiastically and not one of whom had said a single word to the would-be biochemist since Friday afternoon. It had been at that time that an ill-advised and heavily caffeine fueled rendition of 'Baby Got Back' in the Dalton Commons had been witnessed by a shocked Headmaster Michaelson, who promptly confined all 16 of the boys involved to campus arrest for the weekend and informed a surprised Holly (who had herself been peaceably teaching a lesson on the geography of the Roman Empire while dressed as a somewhat conservative Messalina) that he'd see _her_ in his office for a conference Tuesday.

So no one much liked Thad at the moment. The dark-haired senior looked unhappily at his fellow choir members. "I _said_ I was sorry. And it's not like I _made_ them get up and start singing about enormous behinds."

Holly scoffed. "Oh, yeah, because David would have totally come up with that idea if he'd been in his right mind."

"Actually," David mused aloud, "I do like that song a lot. You never know. I might have."

Thad had a look of smug justice all over his face at that. "And for the record," he huffed, "I do in fact categorically deny having any opinion whatsoever on the subject of plus-sized posteriors."

Everyone just looked at both Council members in consternation.

"The point is," Holly said as the first to recover, "Your science experiment is causing serious trouble in the ranks, and the very least you could do is step up your game as lead for rehearsal, even if you're probably not going to end up performing it."

"I thought Blaine would be here by now," Thad grumbled as he assumed his position and counted off the Warblers for 'Blame It On The Bossanova.'

"So did I," muttered the Advisor as she checked her phone for the fiftieth time in an hour. The tenor had said he'd be late, not completely absent. Besides, Holly would have figured he'd try to notify her if he was going to have to bail. Unless something had gone horribly wrong. She nibbled worriedly at her thumbnail and checked her messages for the fifty-first time. Nothing. And she had sent at least ten texts of her own, plus tried to call twice. No answer.

She didn't like this.

"Much better," she called out as the boys finished the song. "We'll give it five more minutes before we head out to the home, K?"

Turning her back on the room, she sent one more text message, wording it as teacherly threatening as she could manage.

(Message From Miss Holliday: _Inform me of your whereabouts this instant or I will have you confined to campus arrest for the remainder of the semester._)

To her surprise, a terse reply arrived almost immediately.

(Message From Blaine Anderson: _Nearly to Westerville. Meet you at Shady Oaks._)

_Okay, then_. At least there was a response. At least he wasn't in the hospital or dead in an alleyway somewhere. Still, she knew things could not be good. Well-adjusted teenage boys in good moods who had performances to get to didn't ignore increasingly irritated text messages from their teachers.

"All right, guys. Slight change of plan. Blaine's going to meet us there." She clicked her phone to sleep and motioned the boys to gather around her. "I have your vehicle assignments." She handed lists off to Wes, Thad, David, and Flint.

"Aw, man," Jeff whined. "No one gets to ride with you?"

Holly reached up and ruffled his hair. "Sorry, kiddo. I drive a Civic and there's a Teddy Roosevelt costume taking up too much space in the back." She addressed the other boys. "Park as close to each other as possible. We'll do a quick set of additional warmups in the lot while we wait for Blaine. And if you have to sing in the cars, please, just sing the set list. I don't want to take the chance that someone will get, I don't know, 'The Thong Song' stuck in their head and will bust out with it at an inappropriate time. It'd be funny, don't get me wrong. We're just all in enough trouble. Save the Sisqo for the ride home."

Simultaneously, everyone turned to glare at Thad, who backed up and put both hands up in agitated surrender. "It wasn't my fault! I mean, not entirely!"

"Okay, let's just move out before Thad digs his hole even deeper, guys." The teacher shook her head and started ushering the boys out the door.

And she'd thought this job would be boring when she first got that damn letter.

* * *

><p>Wes looked at his Rolex. "Ten minutes to showtime."<p>

"I wish he'd get here already." Holly's boots crunched in the gravel of the parking lot at Shady Oaks. They'd been standing outside of the unassuming beige brick building for fifteen minutes already with no sign of Blaine. He hadn't sent another text, either, though she was willing to assume it was because he was driving. "The staff keeps looking out the window at us like we're crazy."

"I don't think they're _entirely_ wrong," pointed out David as he strolled up. "I'm sure it's not every day you see a bunch of uniformed boys just sort of hanging out and singing or playing hacky sack in a retirement home parking lot."

"Oh, man, David, tell them not to get all sweaty and gross before you guys perform, will you? _Boys._" She spun and paced anxiously between Wes and Thad. "I'm not crazy, right? Blaine's not usually running late."

"I refuse to answer the first question on the grounds that I am not a liar, liar, pants on fire," Wes replied promptly, grinning cheerfully at the Advisor's glare. "But yes, to the second. He's usually stupidly punctual. The only guy who usually beats me to anything."

"And he said he was nearly here as of forty minutes ago. I don't - "

Just then, the crunch of tires on gravel signaled the lead singer's arrival. There was a creak as Blaine threw his Passat into park and jumped out, heading straight towards Holly and Wes. Smiles of relief spread through the Warblers, only to dissolve into worry and confusion when they saw the thunderous look on Blaine's face – and that he was alone.

"Blaine, man, what - " Wes tried, but was cut off.

"Can't talk about it now. Let's do this, I have to get back to Lima." Blaine strode towards the retirement home, shaking off all attempts by Warblers to nab him.

"What, today?" Holly was trotting to keep up. "That's a lot of driving. Everything all right?"

The smile he turned on her was grim. "It's really not. I'll explain tomorrow."

"Wasn't Kurt supposed to come and watch us?" Jeff had managed to lope along on his longer legs and catch up.

"Not feeling well, sorry, Jeff." Blaine's tone was short, but not unkind - it wasn't possible to be mean to Jeff, making the sophomore probably the most ideal person to ask what was clearly a touchy question. Still, the tenor offered no further explanation.

"Blaine, why are you wearing Kurt's old uniform?" Wes had managed to catch up as well, with Nick behind him. Holly took a closer look - sure enough, the uniform Blaine had on was simultaneously too long by a couple of inches and was a tiny bit too snug. It would do for this performance, since it was unlikely anyone would be looking too closely. But it was unusual for the boy to allow himself even this minor level of dishevelment, and she frowned at the implications.

"Because he obviously didn't go back to the dorms this morning before he came here," Nick answered before his roommate could open his mouth and bite Wes' head off. "Why didn't you go back? You said you were planning to."

Blaine picked up his pace. "Sometimes things don't go at all according to plan, Nick." With that, they were at the doors and the conversation had to be dropped. The tenor walked up to a small, dark haired woman in pink scrubs. "Mrs. Jennings. Thank you for having us back at Shady Oaks."

"Oh, it's our pleasure, Mr. Anderson." The director of the nursing home was familiar with the Warblers, having had them perform for the residents at a couple of their picnics. "They'll be so glad to see you...oh, is the lovely young man with the pretty eyes not here today?"

The tenor smiled pleasantly, but tightly. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Jennings. Kurt's transferred back to his old high school." Only his friends and Holly noticed the very slight scorn that colored his voice when he mentioned McKinley High.

"That's too bad," the director said sadly, oblivious to the tension radiating from Blaine. "Mrs. Lennox will be disappointed – oh, Jeffrey's here. Never mind, she'll be fine."

"Hi, Mrs. J." Jeff waved and beamed a smile at the woman, who smiled back.

"I'm Holly Holliday, the Warblers' faculty Advisor." Holly pressed forward through the mass of blazered boys and extended her hand to the director. "You have a lovely facility."

"Why, thank you!" Mrs. Jennings turned her smile on Holly now. "I don't think I've seen you before?"

"No, I'm new. Thanks for inviting the boys to sing."

"We just love having them come out here," the woman trilled, patting at her puffy bobbed hair. "It really livens up the place."

"I'm sure." Holly smiled and snagged the elbow of Blaine's blazer as he tried to move past her. "Why don't we go get into place for the show?" She cast significant glances at Nick, Jeff, and David, who caught on and surrounded the tiny director as she led them to the performance space. The rest of the Warblers set off down the hall behind them, with Holly keeping a tight grasp on Blaine's sleeve.

"This really isn't a good time, Miss Holliday."

"I'm shocked that I ever struck you as a person who cared about appropriate timing." She looked at his steely face, the dark circles under his eyes startling and livid against the fair olive tone of his skin. "You're a hot mess, kid."

"Thanks, Ms. H. It's great to see you, too." Blaine rolled his eyes. His voice was so thick with sarcasm, she could have cut it with a knife. Impatiently, she yanked at his sleeve again, shaking his arm.

"I really hope you weren't expecting me to sugarcoat. I can go one better: you look like crap."

"Okay, can I just say that insulting me is not exactly the way to get me to want to confide in you?"

She released his arm. "Sorry. When I get overly worried I get mean. And you _really_ worried me. Imagine what I'd say if you'd ended up in the hospital, I'd probably come in and tell you that I'd seen corpses that looked better." It took her a moment to realize that the teenager was staring at her with a mixture of incredulity and discomfort on his face. "What?"

"I'm trying to decide whether or not to ask you if you've really ever seen a corpse. I just realized that I would never even think to ask that of anyone else but you. With you it actually seems somewhat plausible. I can't figure out how I feel about that."

"Well, then, who am I to ruin the fun by confirming it one way or the other?" They were rapidly approaching the common area the boys would be singing in. "Damn it. You actually managed to avoid me asking you what's going on. I'm both impressed and annoyed. So you have detention with me all this week."

Blaine's jaw dropped in astonishment. "You can't do that. You can't give me detention just because I won't talk to you."

"Mr. Anderson, remind me later to tell you what's been going on while you were gone. I promise you that I can and will give detention for _whatever I like._" Holly shoved him gently towards the group of Warblers, who were waiting for their lead singer. "Knock 'em dead, tiger!"

* * *

><p>The performance itself went off without a hitch. Every harmony smooth as whiskey, Blaine's show face firmly in place, and as much as it galled Holly to admit it, the senior citizens really did like 'Girl From Ipanema.' They applauded it more than any of the other songs. How annoying.<p>

The group stayed to briefly socialize with the residents. She'd had to all but attach herself to Blaine's side in order to keep him from taking off immediately after the last notes of 'Moon River' had faded into silence. "Be nice," she scolded. "You've got to be able to spare them at least half an hour. Have some cake and punch." Was it her imagination, or had the mention of punch caused the boy to flinch? "Blaine?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Fine. Thirty minutes. But not a second longer. I have to get back."

For a long moment Holly regarded him soberly, as if she could somehow read the problem he wouldn't talk about in the tense lines of his face. "What happened out there?"

"I told you – I'll explain everything tomorrow." And with that, he slipped away to go join Wes and David as they talked to an elderly Korean War veteran. He stayed away from Holly for the next half-hour; she had to keep a close eye on him to see when he was leaving so that she could hastily bid farewell to Mrs. Jennings and follow him, the Council and Nick right behind her.

"Anderson, man, are you going to tell us what's up?" David was irritable and it could be heard in his voice. He hated not knowing things.

The younger boy shrugged indifferently and kept moving. "Yes, some of it at least, but none of it today. No time. I keep _telling_ you guys that."

"Yeah, but can you blame us for being worried?" Nick, too, was annoyed. No one liked it when Blaine put up his walls. It invariably meant something bad had happened and when something bad happened to their lead, half of the Warblers wanted to fix it; the other half wanted to wreak havoc on the cause of it. Neither option was possible if he wasn't telling them what was going on. "You're obviously pissed about something. Probably to do with Kurt, since he's not here. Did you guys break up?"

Flint caught up with them at the tail end of Nick's question, the rest of the Warblers trailing in his wake. "What? Blaine and Kurt broke up? Crap." This immediately caused an outbreak of whispering amongst the choir members, forcing Blaine to stop and turn to face everyone, exasperation all over his face.

"No, Kurt and I did not break up. Can everyone _please _listen to me once and for all? I will talk about this later. It's way too long a story to get into now. I promised Kurt I'd come straight back to Lima as soon as I was done here." He punched the unlock button on his key fob, causing the headlights on his car to flash as the locks clicked open. "Flint, Nick, I'm sorry, I'm going to have to reschedule our study session. We'll meet tomorrow night in the Commons."

"Uh, we're sort of not allowed there for the rest of the semester..." Flint rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously and everyone else avoided Blaine's confused look. "Let's meet in yours and Nick's room."

The tenor shook his head. "Fine. Whatever. I have to go. See you tomorrow after school, Miss Holliday." His voice was only slightly resentful as he ducked into the Passat and slammed the door after him. The window came down and he waved a hand at the irritated gathering of his friends and teacher. "Bye, guys." The Volkswagen tore off with a squeal of tires and the noisy crunch of loose gravel being kicked up.

As soon as Blaine was out of sight, Holly was pulling her phone out to call Will. "I'll get what info I can," she assured the anxious boys gathered around her. "It's got to be something to do with Prom, so my teacher friend should have heard about it. Hey, Will!" She turned her full attention to the phone. "Listen, my lead singer showed up almost late to a performance looking like he was about to go postal, and he tore out of here immediately afterward to go back to Lima. Do you know anything ab- oh. Oh shit."

The boys all kept steady eyes on their Advisor, uncaring that she'd just used inappropriate language in front of them. They were more concerned with the reason _why _she'd lost enough control to curse, with why her face drained of color, with why she suddenly leaned against David, her hand covering her mouth in shock.

"That's...Will, that's the most horrible...why did Figgins...you must be kidding. Are you kidding? You're not kidding."

Wes began waving to get her attention, mouthing, _What is it? _With an impatient wave, Holly turned her back on the group and walked a short distance away. "Will, that's so supremely fucked up, I can't even find words. What? Yes, yes, my students are here and yes, I did just say that in front of them - no, Will, they don't care, it doesn't matter right now! Ugh." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're giving me a headache. Focus, please. Is Kurt all right? What does more or less even mean?"

The teacher began to pace angrily, yanking her arm away from David as he tried to grab her elbow and stop her. "I can't believe you didn't stand up and say anything - what? You weren't in there when it happened? Finn got into a fight, too? Over this? No. Over _Rachel_? What is _wrong _with your school, Will?"

The Warblers all looked at each other, frustrated at the one sided conversation. Nick tapped Holly on the shoulder to get her attention. Without even looking at him, she held up her finger to indicate that he should just wait. "I guess that's all you can really tell me right now. Okay. Sorry I snapped at you. Call me if anything else happens." Ending the call, she turned to face the choir. "Right. First things first: Kurt is not dead, sick, or injured. That's the good news."

"What's the bad news?" Thad asked the question that was on the tip of all their tongues. Their faces creased in anxiety as they jostled up around her.

Holly felt hollowed out from the shock. She really thought she might be violently ill and had to swallow repeatedly until she felt like she was going to be able to speak clearly. After searching for words for interminable minutes, she ended up just spitting it out. "They voted him Prom Queen."

Immediately, she had to put her arms out to hold back the wave of angry teenage boys who began shouting and shoving their way to their vehicles. Fortunately they were well mannered enough that they stopped as soon as she made the futile attempt to block them, but that didn't stop them from yelling. "Ms. H, you've got to be kidding. We've got some asses to kick." David was particularly furious. "Let us go."

"Okay, seriously, guys? The sort of people who organize a nasty joke of this magnitude are unlikely to feel even remotely threatened by an a cappella boys choir in blazers and dress slacks." As much as Holly would have liked to turn the Dalton boys loose on Kurt's tormentors, she did have to reluctantly give way to the authority granted to her by the possession of a teaching license. And besides that... "Anyway, we don't even know who did it."

That stopped the pushing and jostling in its tracks. "Oh." Wes was stunned. "Right. I can't believe we didn't realize that."

"Mob mentality has a way of overriding common sense." Holly's tone was dry as she shrugged. "I'll point out something else you might have missed: Blaine will kill all of you in your sleep if you chase after him now, and Kurt would probably help him."

"That is a fair assessment," agreed Trent from the back of the crowd. "He was quite clear about not wanting to talk to us about it right now." He rolled his eyes at the grumbles of the other boys. "Whatever. Just because you hate it when I point out the stuff you don't want to hear doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"That's why we hate it," David muttered. "Fine. We won't drive off to Lima waving pitchforks and torches. Happy, Ms. H?"

"Ecstatic." Holly's deadpan expression belied the word. "Since substitute teaching really doesn't pay enough for me to bail sixteen teenage boys out of the clink."

"But what are we going to do?" Jeff wondered. "I mean, _can_ we do anything?"

"Just be there for Blaine at the meeting on Tuesday," she suggested. "As for us right now, since you got yourselves put under campus arrest except for this event, I can't take you out to pizza like we planned. Why don't we head back to Dalton? We'll go to the rehearsal hall and I'll order in. I'll even help out with any tutoring anyone might need. Sound okay?"

The boys all nodded and began to disperse to their various cars, muttering furiously between them. Holly headed for her tiny Civic, shoving aside a pile of wigs that had toppled from their perch on the passenger seat. She was startled when David caught at the car door when she tried to close it. "Yes, Mr. Hardwick?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed really upset."

"I was. I am." She lifted her shoulder in a helpless shrug. "It was a really shitty thing to have happen to a couple of kids I like, and I've taught enough at McKinley to be ashamed of the failure of the administration on their behalf."

"Yeah. I can understand that." He hesitated, looking uncomfortable. "Um, do you need a tissue or a handkerchief or something?"

"Uh, _no_. But thank you." Holly frowned. "Do I look like I'm about to cry? It's not really something I do."

"No, no," the senior hastened to assure her. "I just...it seemed appropriate? And I didn't know what else to do."

She patted his hand. "Well, it was very sweet. But no." The blast of a car horn shocked them both, and they looked over to see Jeff cheerfully leaning on the horn in David's SUV. "We'd better get back. I'll be right behind you guys. I have to stop and get gas."

"OK. See you back at school, Ms. H."

"See you." She watched and waited while the four large vehicles carefully exited the parking lot and headed back to the Academy. Once they'd all gone, she sighed and propped her head on her hand, resting her elbow against the knee she pulled up onto the driver's seat.

Holly truly wasn't a person who cried easily or often, and she wasn't going to cry now. But she felt so, so tired all of a sudden. Tired and angry and helpless. She knotted her hands together through her blonde hair, resting her palms against the back of her neck as she softly thumped her head against the steering wheel.

She didn't get it. She just didn't get it. Not the actions of the kids or the inaction of the adults who let the whole disaster happen. Holly Holliday wasn't exactly a paragon of educational excellence, but damn if McKinley High didn't make her look like one.

How pathetic did a school have to be for _that_ to happen?

And Blaine actually wanted to potentially go there? Boyfriend or not, if she'd been an outside student witnessing a debacle like that, she'd want to put as much distance between herself and that school as possible. As it was, she wasn't at all sure she'd ever accept another subbing job there. The idea made her skin crawl.

She had been trying to stay impartial and allow Blaine to come to his own decision about his appeal, but she was pretty sure that now, that was totally out the window. She couldn't see herself pointing out any advantages of McKinley over Dalton and keeping a straight face...or her temper, for that matter. And given that Blaine's draw to McKinley was – in the form of Kurt Hummel – a fairly strong one, she felt like that was probably going to go over like a lead balloon. Holly thumped her head against the steering wheel again, a little harder this time.

How had she ever thought that this job would be boring?

**_Author's Note: _**_ Sorry this took so long! If you follow my Livejournal (a_glass_parade) you know that I only had mobile phone internet access all week! But here we are at last. Thank you for your reviews, alerts, love and patience. Now to publish this since the flight attendant is giving me total stinkeye - we're about to start our approach to land in Atlanta for my layover._


	15. Of That Which You Forgot

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

**_Disclaimers:_**_ I do not own Glee. I simply find it lots of fun to play with. Rated T for Teen and all that. Chapter takes place the Monday after "Prom Queen," and if you haven't watched that before you came reading, I can't help you. Also, surprise! This came faster than I had thought it would._

**Chapter Fourteen – Of That Which You Forgot**

One minute Holly was alone in her classroom wiping her whiteboard clean, and the next she was turning around to see that Blaine had slipped silently into a desk and was quietly munching on a mango that he'd filched from her fruit bowl. She was so surprised that she flung the dry-eraser directly at his head without thinking, and only the reflexes he'd honed from intramural soccer tournaments saved him from a face full of nasty dry-erase marker grit.

He ducked, the eraser sailing neatly over his head to collide noisily with the back wall in a puff of gross smelling black dust. "This is no way to greet a student arriving to serve detention," he yelped.

"It is when the student decides to play ninja!" Holly leaned back against the clean whiteboard, hand over heart. "You're supposed to _announce_ yourself. You usually knock."

"Well, I didn't mean to scare you, but you know what? As far as I'm concerned, it's nothing less than you deserve for assigning me detention while you were in a snit," the teenager retorted. "This is truly uncalled for."

The teacher cast her eyes heavenward. "Jesus. Be happy I cut it down to three days."

"With _you_. I still have to work in the Admin office the other two days."

"Which you'd do anyway, because you _volunteer,_" Holly reminded him. "Don't even try to pull that with me, Mr. Anderson."

The boy looked sheepish. "Oh, all right. You've got me there." He pulled off a strip of mango and stuffed it into his mouth. "This is really good."

"Yes, it looked delicious and was supposed to be my breakfast tomorrow." Holly sighed. "I don't usually cater detention, you know."

"Oh. Oops. I'm really sorry, Miss Holliday." Blaine now looked incredibly guilty and apologetic as he held the remainder of the mango out to her. She waved him off.

"No, you might as well finish it. It's not like this was going to be a real detention anyway. As you're well aware." She plopped down in the desk adjacent to his and swung her feet up onto the next one. "However, now that you've eaten the fruit of the Underworld, Persephone, you're totally going to have to answer my questions."

"Unfair," Blaine protested.

"You're eating my breakfast," Holly pointed out. "I win."

They stared at each other for several long minutes, jaws set and arms crossed with stubbornness. However, Holly counted a mule-headed tenacity among her more endearing traits, and Blaine was at heart the most polite teenage boy to ever walk the Earth. In the end, he capitulated. "All right. What do you want to know?"

A shrug from the teacher. "Well, I know the basics already – you went to Prom with Kurt, he wore a kilt, the single-celled organisms that William McKinley High School calls students voted him Prom Queen. I was hoping you'd fill in any missing details."

"What...how did...?" Blaine was reduced once more to his very best fish impersonation before he cottoned on and closed his mouth with a nearly audible snap, nodding as he did. "Ah, right. Mr. Schuester."

"Excellent deduction skills, Sherlock." She aimed a fingergun at him and pretended to fire. "It turns out that it's useful to have an ex-boyfriend at the school one of my students' boyfriends attends. I may have to date more fellow teachers. Don't look at me like that."

Blaine hastily wiped the smirk from his face. "Why, Miss Holliday, I don't know what you mean." When she leveled a droll gaze on him and didn't let up, he gave in. "Okay. The thing is, you've got pretty much all the details. All I can really add is that the night was going pretty well until _that thing_ happened. And then Kurt kind of rocked his acceptance speech."

"Oh? What did he say?"

"'Eat your heart out, Kate Middleton.'"

Holly let out a ringing peal of laughter, kicking her feet on the desk as she did. "Oh, man, he is totally my new favorite person."

"Mine, too." Blaine smiled a little, very briefly, before going sober again. "Then he put a pretty good face on it, but he was really upset...that's why I went back yesterday. I just wanted to be there for him as much as I could before he had to go back to that school with all those awful people." Putting his hand under his chin, he went off into one of his thousand mile stares, not noticing that Holly was biting her lip as she tried to think of what to say in response.

It seemed early in the conversation to bring up her new misgivings about his possible transfer. But they were bubbling right there under the surface and he'd all but handed her an opening on a silver platter. She sat in a mire of indecision as Blaine stared off into nothing. It occurred to the teacher that she'd better say something, though, because she got the distinct impression that the boy would be willing to sit like that for the rest of detention.

"So...how are you feeling about it?" Holly decided that this was a suitably diplomatic way to steer the conversation in the right direction.

"Me?" Blaine jerked back slightly, allowing his hand to fall back to the desk. "Variations on anger. Saturday I was furious. Sunday it was more of a slow burn. Today I'm sad and tired. So it's all sloping down and tapering off, but it's still there." His hands danced as he spoke, tracing the peaks and valleys of his rage. "I think it'll be a while before it completely fades."

"Do they know who did it?"

"Finn has some ideas. I don't know if Kurt will let him pursue interrogating his suspects though. He kind of wants to put this behind him as much as possible."

"Seems fair, I guess. It's really his situation in the end, a little yours but mostly his, and not really Finn's at all. I hear he got thrown out."

The teenager could not contain his eyeroll. "Yes, he did. Right in the middle of my performance, he goes and starts shoving Rachel's date. I gather there's some tension there anyway, since the guy is another one of Rachel's exes and apparently an attitudinal jerk to boot."

"Ah." Holly nodded absently. This was wandering off course again already. She'd have to try harder to think of a way to gently push it back in the direction she wanted. "Jealousy."

"And how. It was pretty ridiculous. They got tossed out for shoving. I mean, Finn took a swing, but he _missed._ I don't condone violence, obviously, but that was sort of...sad." Blaine shook his head at the folly of it all.

"Sounds like he could have handled it better, yes. I'm sure the girls weren't thrilled."

"No. Quinn actually _did_ hit Rachel later on, I found out. Rachel won't let _me_ do anything about it, not that I'd know _what_ to do. She just says she appreciates the drama of it – of course she does – and that she understands where Quinn was coming from. I'm glad someone does." Blaine looked over at Holly, who had a distracted look on her face, like she wasn't paying attention. "Miss Holliday?"

She jumped, very slightly. "Yes?"

"Are you...here?"

Now she looked at him as if she were measuring him, which made him fight not to squirm. Finally, she spoke. "Yes. I was trying to find a subtle way to bring this up, but it eventually occurred to me that subtlety and I don't get along when it comes to touchy subjects. I either over- or under-do it." She sighed.

Blaine was confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I've been wondering if this event has changed your feelings at all about your potential transfer. If it's tipped the scales one way or the other." Holly's gaze was steady, but opaque. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, and it left him feeling a little like he was floundering.

"Um. Yes. And no. Kind of?"

She kept staring. "Elaborate, please."

He didn't understand where this was going, but he was going to humor her, since she was supposed to be helping him figure this out, after all. "Well. Um. Part of me wants to stay firmly put here and not go anywhere near people who would be that horrible to other human beings." Thinking, he pulled absently at the buttons on the cuffs of his blazer. "But a really big part of me thinks that's the easy way out and wants to make the transfer to be there for Kurt. Face the bullies together."

"I see." There was a barely perceptible tightening along Holly's jaw, as if what he was saying upset her. Her next words, delivered in a slightly acid tone, confirmed his suspicion. "Do you think that perhaps you might be considering that as a sort of redemption gambit and not really something you _want_ to do? More like something you feel like you _have_ to do?"

Blaine felt his mouth fall open. "Are you kidding right now?"

"No, I'm really not." She swung her feet down and stood up, strolling over to sit on her own desktop. "I think you're using this as a reason to justify throwing your appeal."

He stood up and grabbed his bag. "I can't even believe I'm hearing this."

"Sit back down." Holly's voice was uncharacteristically loaded with anger. It didn't get Blaine to actually sit back down, but it sure gave him pause. He dropped his bag back down onto the floor as she opened her mouth to continue. "McKinley is not your fight. Fighting your fight would be going back to Toledo. Transferring to McKinley would be fighting Kurt's fight. Has he asked you to do that?"

His head was low, he didn't look at her. "No."

"Didn't think so."

"So what? What's your deal, anyway? Why does it matter to you if I transfer?" Blaine was sullen and let it leak out into his voice.

"Because I think it's idiotic to deliberately and needlessly put yourself in the way of harm and insults."

"Do you think Kurt is stupid for going back to McKinley, then?" He threw the words out as a challenge, looking up to glare at the substitute. She didn't even flinch.

"You misinterpreted that on purpose. And no. Kurt had a whole lot of reasons to go back, not least of which is the fact that McKinley is _where he came from._" Holly wasn't often the voice of reason and logic. It was an odd suit to have on, but she thought she was managing pretty well. "You have a few reasons why it would be _nice_ to transfer there, but only one reason why you _want_ to transfer there, and that's Kurt. I like Kurt a lot, but I don't think love is a good reason to uproot yourself from a place where you're perfectly happy."

"I'm _not_ perfectly happy. You know that. I'm not happy because Kurt isn't here."

"Okay. Fair point." She lowered her own head for a moment to think, then tossed it back up, her hair sliding back and forth over her shoulders. "But that's really the only reason you're not happy."

"It's a big one."

"You're such a _teenager_. No matter how adult you act, it's moments like this that remind me that you are, in fact, seventeen years old and sure your love is the biggest, best, most unending love in the world."

That stung. "Don't make out like I'm just some stupid kid."

"Don't make it so easy for me to make the assumption."

He felt like he had on Prom night when they announced Kurt as Queen – punched in the gut. Anger roiled in his stomach. "I really, seriously don't have to sit here and take this. This is supposed to be detention, not condescension."

Holly realized suddenly that she'd gone too far. Civilized arguments were so not her forte. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "Whatever it is, we have thirty more minutes. Please." Another breath. "I'll try to pull the low blows, okay? Remember what I said about being worried."

Clearly he did, and clearly that didn't make him any less angry. "I have...so many choice words right now."

"I bet you do. Let me get in a couple." She sighed. "I'm sorry."

For a moment she thought he was going to take off anyway. But no – he glared at her and sat back down, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms defensively over his chest. He didn't say anything, so she supposed it was all up to her. She bit at her lower lip again.

"What I am trying to say, and saying _badly_," she began, "is that I like you, kid. And I can't do a thing to stop you from transferring to McKinley if that's what you actually want to do – but I do think it isn't the best idea in the world. I don't understand wanting to put yourself in harm's way."

He stared at her, stared and waited. So she went on. "I do think you feel like you want to be at Kurt's side to defend him. But you've still got it in your head that you're weak for being at Dalton. And you're not, Blaine. It's not weak to be happy where it's safe."

"I ran." He said it low, so low that Holly had to strain to hear it. "I just want to stand up for once. Not run anymore."

"You'd be running from Dalton if you left," she pointed out as gently as she could. "And for what? A relationship that's going pretty well long distance? For a boy that _hasn't_ asked you to drop everything and run to his side? Blaine. Not rushing into a fight that's not yours doesn't make you a coward."

He hesitated visibly before speaking again. "But it feels like I am. Miss Holliday, when everything went down on Saturday, I wanted to run out of that school and drag Kurt back to Dalton with me. He put his head up and waltzed back in there and basically told them all to fuck off and he was brilliant doing it. I still feel like he's the strong one and I'm just the one who pretends that I am."

"Okay." She nodded. "And you think that transferring to McKinley will prove something?"

"It would prove to me that I can face adversity and not run."

"Do you actually realize that you're the only person who thinks you're a coward, Blaine?" Holly tilted her head to the side and smiled at him, trying to jolly a responding smile back. She failed. The teenager just sat and looked agonized. "Come on. You like it here, right? What, are you ashamed that you like it here?"

Blaine shifted in his chair. "That's...that is something that has crossed my mind. Yes."

A low whistle escaped Holly's lips before she could stop herself. "That's kind of messed up, kid."

"I know." He looked so miserable, she wanted to haul him off to her apartment for pizza and chick flicks. Instead, she looked up at the ceiling and blew a puff of air to flip her bangs off of her face while she thought about what to say next. Silence stretched like gossamer threads between them.

"It's not..." The words caught in her throat, stopping her while she cleared it and the tenor gazed at her curiously, his eyes wide. "It's not a betrayal of anything to want to stay here, Blaine. You do like it here. You're not obligated to sacrifice being happy. Not for anything or anyone."

"But - "

"No one but you ever said you needed to put yourself in the path of bullies just to prove you're a strong person, kid." She drummed her heels on the front of her desk. "I'm trying to get across to you that coming to Dalton was not a cop-out. That _staying_ here is not a cop-out. I told you before that it's not weak to recognize that you're in a bad situation and find a way to get yourself out of it."

"I keep telling myself that," he replied softly. "It just doesn't want to sink in."

"Has it always been like that?"

He shook his head. "Not really. Not as much as it has been since I met Kurt. He woke me up. Made me remember that there's a world outside of this place."

"Oh, come on. Had you ever really forgotten that?"

The tenor looked thoughtful. "Well..."

"You _adapted_, Blaine. That doesn't mean you forgot, jeez." Holly picked at a cuticle, wondering how much more to say. _To hell with it._ "I know for a fact you didn't forget."

He cocked his head to the side, reminding her irresistibly of a Victrola dog, the puzzled look clear in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Michaelson keeps talking about how Kurt corrupted the Warblers all by himself, like he's some kind of evil mastermind. Which is completely...oh, what's the word I'm looking for...stupid! There we go." She smiled, looking extremely self-satisfied.

"Well, of course Kurt's not a corruptor or mastermind or whatever. He's just Kurt." Blaine didn't feel any more enlightened. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Pretty much everything," the teacher drawled idly. "Oh, I think he helped whatever Michaelson sees as corruption along, sure, because Mr. Kurt Hummel was the instigator's _sidekick_."

There was a crucial puzzle piece out of play here, Blaine was sure of it. "Miss Holliday, I...I'm sorry. This is going to have to be one of those times when you spell it out for me." He felt entirely idiotic, something that _used_ to be a rare occurrence. Before Kurt and Miss Holliday and, sometimes, Rachel. It was a very good thing he liked them all, he guessed.

"It was _you_, Blaine. Sheesh."

"Me?" But...no?

"Yes, you. All those Top 40 songs you guys do. The furniture hopping. The weird Gap thing that still makes you turn the most hysterical shade of pink whenever it's mentioned. The duet at Regionals. All of these things came from you, not Kurt."

"No...?" So this is what it felt like to have your world view turned inside out. Tunnel vision and mild nausea.

"Yes...?" Holly's voice was lightly teasing as she mimicked him. "I hear things. I've had conversations with Dave and Wes. And, most importantly, I've rummaged through the archives and I know what went on before you came here. The Warblers were a great show choir, but they weren't the rock stars they are now. Oh, ho ho no they were not." She snorted out a giggle. "Did you notice that for every cool song we found in the back catalog, there were like, _five_ John Denver songs? And don't even get me started on their 98 Degrees phase."

He couldn't help but wince and wrinkle his nose. "Ew."

"Ew is right." She crossed her legs at the ankles and thumped them against the desk again in an aimless, staccato tattoo. "Wes says you were really walled up when you came here. Wouldn't talk to anyone, hardly looked people in the eye, kept your head down and didn't trust a soul."

He nodded. Just nodded, still trying to think all of this through.

"But then you joined the Warblers."

Nod. "David heard me singing in the bathroom and all but dragged me out of the shower and to the rehearsal hall. I barely had time to put clothes on. I absolutely did not have time to do anything with my hair." He dipped his head down, and a tiny smile ghosted across his face. "I nearly throttled him when I saw where he'd brought me, but he talked me into auditioning."

"He told me about that. And that when you opened your mouth and started to sing, that it was like a switch flipped to 'on,' and that it hasn't been turned off since."

"He said that?" Blaine looked up and his smile grew larger. "Wow."

"Yup." The teacher's smile was just as brilliant in return. "He also said the Warblers hadn't been the same since. In a good way. Like you'd flipped a switch on with them, too."

"Nah. You're putting me on, right?"

"Scout's honor." She raised her fingers in the Boy Scout salute. "I guess it got a little crazy when Kurt came along. But the upshot is – you breathed life and soul into the Warblers, kid. You. Not Kurt." Her eyes were steadily trained on him again. "Like I said. You adapted. But you never forgot."

His hand was sticky and wet. Looking down in surprise, he saw that he'd completely mangled the last bit of mango. The seed clung to the pulped fruit by a fibrous thread. A wad of paper towels appeared under his nose and he looked up to see Holly standing next to him, that opaque look back in her eyes.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" He heard the rough catch of sudden tears lurking in his voice and swallowed them away as he wiped off his hand, wrapping the mass of squashed fruit up in the used napkins.

"I'm reminding you of what you _have_ forgotten." The substitute moved to stand by her desk, no longer facing him. "That you like it here, that you're safe, and that not very long ago, you didn't think that was a bad thing." She glanced at her wristwatch. "Time's up."

At a complete loss for words, Blaine scrambled to his feet, snagged his bag, and bolted out of the classroom like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

**_Author's Note:_**_ Hm. So yes, this is a bit short, and so will the next one be, but I didn't like to put them together into one chapter. Much too talky. Hilariously, I have not actually started on chapter 15 yet, but I HAVE gotten a good chunk of work done on chapter 16. Excellent prioritizing, self._

_I am still so very, very appreciative of the feedback I have been receiving. I can be harsh with the self-criticism, so it's so good to hear that people like this story and think that I am being true to the characters. I'm working hard to make that happen, so it's lovely to know it's paying off. Thank you, you motley crew of gorgeous people with questionable senses of humor (I say it with affection because you all seem to share MY sense of humor, which is the one that thought this idea was FUNNY). I'll start working on 15 tomorrow and hope to have it up soonish._


	16. I'm Rubber, You're Glue

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Rated T for mild language. Technically this is taking place during the week of the events of "Funeral," though I don't believe I'll be referencing those events much, and certainly not at all in this chapter. _

**Chapter Fifteen – I'm Rubber, You're Glue**

It felt like she was sixteen again and waiting to be suspended for ditching.

Holly had been waiting in the Admin office for Dr. Michaelson for fifteen minutes so that he could give her hell for the Warblers' misbehavior last week. Which meant that she was already irritated - she had thought the whole thing was funny and certainly not at all the end of the world that the Headmaster seemed to think it was. Being kept _waiting _to be berated did no wonders for her temperament.

Sitting across from a silent, moody, paper-stapling Blaine Anderson didn't help either. The tenor hadn't exchanged any words with her beyond "hello," and he was studiously avoiding her gaze. Holly guessed he was still on edge from their conversation the day before. Fantastic. Just what she needed.

She shifted uneasily in her chair, felt her chin come up defiantly. _Two can play this game_, she thought, ostentatiously turning her head away from the boy across the room. She could see with her peripheral vision that he looked up briefly, the perfect cool, blank mask on his face not slipping so much as a quarter inch before he returned to his task.

Okay. Two could play at this game, but teenagers were always annoyingly better at it and _oh god Holly you're an adult just stop it. _

Yes. There were certain behavioral lines Holly Holliday would give herself shit for if they were crossed. Acting like a bratty teenager was one of them. She decided to take a slightly more adult approach. "So, you're not talking to me now?"

Shuffle. Stack. Straighten. Staple. Shuffle. Stack. Straighten. Staple.

Holly felt her eyes nearly rotate into the back of her skull. "You know how you told me to not make out like you were a stupid kid? And how I told you not to make it so easy for me to make that assumption? Can you guess where I'm at now, Blaine?"

Shuffle. Stack. Straighten. Staple. _Glare._

"Very mature, Mr. Anderson. Let me just - "

Dr. Michaelson's office door opened, the Headmaster's snowy white head poking out and looking around until it settled on Holly with a stern glare. "Miss Holliday. If you're ready?"

"Yes, sir." She got to her feet and fought the urge to flounce, a harder fight than she ever experienced in her entire life. As she crossed the threshold into the office, she turned back and caught Blaine Anderson - future valedictorian, lead singer of the Warblers, and the nicest kid she'd ever met - actually _sticking his tongue out at her._

Just before she closed the door, she mouthed, _really?_ at the teenager and had the excellent good fortune to witness the genuinely nuclear blush that spread rapidly up from his shirt collar to his hairline. _Oh, there's a memory I'll keep forever,_ she thought, gloating as she gently pushed the polished oak door shut.

The Headmaster was already back behind his desk as she walked over to take her seat, smoothing her skirt over her knees in a display of nerves she would deny experiencing to her dying day. He looked awfully foreboding for a man who reminded her far, far too much of Mark Twain for the sake of seriousness, Holly decided. When that thought floated across her mind, she had to hurry to turn her snort of laughter into a cough. Judging by the suddenly increased intensity of the man's glare, however, she figured she probably had not succeeded.

"Miss Holliday," he began, "I know you are aware of why I've called you in here."

She stifled a sigh. "Yes. Because of what the Warblers did last Friday in the Commons."

"A shocking display of a complete and total lack of dignity."

Well, this was starting out well. She decided to play dumb. Just a little. "I'm sorry. I was given to understand that the Warblers frequently gave impromptu performances for their fellow students. That it's something the students enjoy and look forward to."

"Indeed, indeed." Dr. Michaelson picked up a pen and tapped it on the desktop. "Quite normal for them to do it. And it would have been just fine this time had they not chosen to sing a completely vulgar and classless ode to women's posteriors."

Oh, he couldn't say that and expect her to keep a straight face, could he? Really? Apparently he could, because the look on his own face dared her to lose her cool even a little bit. With a strangling effort, Holly managed to swallow down the laughter and deliver a simple, composed, "Oh, well, of course."

"Dalton boys are expected to hold to a higher standard of behavior than a normal high school student, Miss Holliday. They are to comport themselves as leaders, men of dignity who command respect. They are _not_ to act like hooligans and thugs."

She felt a frown crease her forehead. "Hooligans and thugs? Dr. Michaelson, with all due respect, they were singing, not setting the Commons on fire while murdering a litter of puppies."

"Excuse me?" The stern frown on _his_ face probably should have been a warning. It _would_ have been a warning, for anyone but Holly, who was suddenly feeling not cautious so much as she was mischievous. Not a good sign.

The substitute waved her hand in an attitude that was just short of flippant. "I'm just saying, I think you might be engaging in a little bit of unnecessary hyperbole. _Lord of the Flies_ this is not."

Dr. Michaelson's chest puffed out in outrage. "Miss Holliday, I feel like you're not taking this at all seriously."

_Don't say it don't say it oooh here we go._ "How am I supposed to take this seriously? They were singing about _butts. _Actually, I wish I'd been there. It sounds like it was _hilarious_."

Hilarious like the completely gobsmacked expression on Michaelson's face. "Come again?"

"Bunch of teenage boys hopped up on caffeine from helping their friend with a school experiment, bouncing up and down and off the walls singing what, from what I've been able to hear, was a particularly masterful off the cuff a cappella rendition of Sir Mix-A-Lot's finest work? Yeah. I wish I'd been there." Holly was actually a little surprised at herself. Annoying the administrative faculty within ten minutes of sitting down for a meeting? She thought it might be a record.

Of course, it would never have happened if she hadn't come into the meeting on edge. It wasn't like Holly had a whole lot of filters, but the fragile ones she did have tended to disintegrate completely under stress. She had the sudden feeling this meeting wasn't going to go very well. For some people, that feeling was accompanied by the sensation of their stomachs dropping through the floor.

For Holly Holliday, that knowledge was always accompanied by a rising feeling of complete and utter glee. This caused trouble. This had gotten her asked to depart Cleveland as speedily as possible. And she had been actually really quite restrained here in Westerville, and she was ticked off at a recalcitrant teenager that she was trying to _help_, thank you, and dear _God_ the constant influx of apples hadn't stopped and -

"Headmaster Michaelson, you are in fact aware that you preside over a _high school _that is attended by over five hundred teenage _boys_ swimming in a constant soup of hormones and Advanced Placement homework?"

Aaaaaaaand she was off and running. _Totally. Awesome._

The Headmaster flushed pink and straightened abruptly in his chair. "Miss Holliday, I - "

"No, no, hear me out." Holly pasted a cheerful smile onto her face and tilted her head as charmingly as possible. She worked to keep the patronizing sarcasm at bay for once – she did like the Headmaster and didn't want to necessarily test whether or not he'd terminate her two weeks from finals – but in all other respects she was abruptly ready to let him have it. "I'd like to ask you if the boys were performing in front of any influential alumni or faculty?"

"Well, no, but - "

She overrode him. "Were they committing any felonies or misdemeanors?"

"No, now, Miss - "

"Was there any vandalism or other kinds of property damage?"

"Now see here - "

"And I bet no one was complaining at the time, nor have you received any complaints since then. Yes?" She crossed her legs and leaned over to pertly prop her elbow on her knee, dropping her chin into her hand and raising her eyebrows.

Dr. Michaelson was sitting straight up and stiff as a board, his face approaching an alarming shade of red. "Are you _quite_ finished, Miss Holliday?"

"Mm. No." She sat back up, balancing her clasped hands on her knee. "I'm just getting started. Dr. Michaelson, you can't dignify the teenage boy-ness out of teenage boys. It's not possible."

He actually sputtered. "That's not what we - "

"Oh, yes it is." Her mouth twitched into a _moue_. "You asked me to watch over the Warblers and turn them back into the perfect little gentlemen that you believe they should be. I am here to tell you after three weeks of working with them that A) you can't put the genie back in the bottle and B) _I don't want to anyway._"

"You...what?"

"I don't want to," she repeated patiently. "I've never believed in stifling creativity or spirit, and I feel like that's what you asked me to do. I went along with it at first because I thought maybe you were understating the problem, but seriously? If your worst problem with a group of extremely talented private school students who have excellent grade point averages is that they spontaneously burst into silly, raunchy song, then I think you kind of need to _lighten up_."

Holly's defiant gaze didn't falter in the face of the outraged glare of the Headmaster. It was several long minutes before he finally spoke. "Miss Holliday, you have quite a lot of nerve."

"You bet I do. Someone has to on behalf of these kids you want to turn into Stepford clones," she retorted.

"We have certain standards here at Dalton Academy."

"I'm _aware_," the substitute snapped. "I read the handbook. As near as I can tell, the boys were well within guidelines. It was immediately after school, so they weren't skipping or disrupting class. It was in a common area _for_ students in front of an audience _of_ students who have an established record of enjoying Warbler performances. The song is unquestionably vulgar, but there was no profanity. It was technically done in service of Thad Lawrence's final Biochemistry experiment on the effects of caffeine overuse. And from the mobile phone video I've seen of the whole thing, it was _really_ nicely arranged in a very short amount of time. That kind of creativity actually ought to be rewarded." She hadn't delivered quite so long a speech since she confronted McKinley High's merry little band of hecklers. It left her feeling a little short of breath.

Not so the Headmaster. "_Now_ are you quite finished?"

Holly arched one insouciant eyebrow before dropping her gaze to her hands, clasped loosely in her lap. "For the moment."

"If we weren't so close to the end of the semester," growled the Headmaster, drumming his fingers angrily on his desktop blotter, "and if you weren't doing an excellent job preparing Mr. Hancock's students for finals...I would absolutely dismiss you right this minute for insolence. As I said, you have a lot of nerve, Miss Holliday."

She repressed her sigh of relief. "I understand, sir."

"Do you?" He arched his eyebrow skeptically.

"Absolutely. I do understand. I'm not about to apologize, but I do understand." Peering up from underneath her lowered eyelashes, Holly could see she'd managed to shock the man into apoplectic silence once again. Good. Now that she knew for sure she wasn't going to be fired, she found her second wind. Standing up, she walked around to the back of her chair, leaning over and pinning him with a good stern stare of her own. "Sir, I've spent a lot of this academic year teaching at a school where some of the most exuberant, talented kids I've ever met are bullied every day in ways so brutal that one of my students was sent _here_ for his own safety. And do you know what happened when Kurt Hummel decided to go back to McKinley?"

He shook his head, mutely.

"Three quarters of the junior class decided it would be a hilarious joke to elect him Prom Queen alongside a Prom King who was the reason for his transfer to Dalton in the first place." Standing up straight, she began to pace the room, occasionally looking over at Dr. Michaelson to be sure she was driving her points home. "I come from that school where no one cares about their students enough to stop them from being regularly doused in Slushie to this one where you just want your bright shining stars to sit down and shut up in a corner until they're trotted out to perform like they're show ponies. And...no. Not doing it."

The Headmaster worked to find his voice. "What are you saying, exactly?"

"I'm saying that boys will be boys no matter what, that you have a lot of good kids there in the middle of a pretty stressful academic time who were just trying to blow off a little steam, and that I don't see anything wrong with what they did at all. You can yell at me all you like, but it won't change my opinion and it's certainly not going to chill them out. I'm actually shocked that you think their acting out is a new thing. Newsflash: it's not. They've just gotten less subtle about it since Blaine got here."

"Wait. What does Mr. Anderson have to do with it? He wasn't even there on Friday."

Holly turned a pitying glance upon the beleaguered administrator, who clearly had not known at all what he was getting himself into when he decided that Holly Holliday needed taking down a few pegs. "You've never noticed?"

"Noticed _what_?"

"All of your so-called 'problems' -" Here, Holly raised her hands in that ridiculous quotation fingers gesture to show that she didn't see them as problems at all. " - all of them began when a hyperactive little monkey of a public school student turned up on your doorstep and woke a bunch of teenage zombies up from their Stepford comas. Suddenly, they remember! They're _kids_, oh my God. Insanely smart and well mannered kids, but _kids_. And do you know what else?"

Once again, Dr. Michaelson shook his head in silence.

"They tied at Sectionals and placed at Regionals. Their best showing in years. All down to loosening up and being teenagers as far as I can see. They're a credit to your school. They're the best kids I've ever taught. So I say they've earned the right to be a little vulgar and have fun. It's not like having fun in high school ever prevented growing up and being a productive leader in society." Suddenly, Holly came to the last of her energy. Her voice pitched low and ragged. "Do what you like to me, I'm just an expendable substitute teacher, but I'm not babysitting them into compliance, Dr. Michaelson, and I don't recommend trying to make me."

After one last long, measuring gaze, she turned and slammed her way out of the door, coming face to face with a startled Blaine, who dropped the papers he'd been holding.

"Miss Holliday!"

"Mr. Anderson." Her voice was curt, causing a bewildered look to cover the tenor's face. Oh, whatever. She could be curt if she wanted. He'd _ignored_ her when she came in, was being an insufferable _teenager_ because he didn't like that she was trying to thwart his grand plans to transfer for love, or whatever overly grandiose term he'd use for it. He was lucky she actually liked him and knew she shouldn't take out her irritation with Michaelson out on him. It wouldn't go well. She'd start with the eyebrows and it would all go downhill from there.

He was staring at her in confusion now. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Peachy keen." She shrugged carelessly and leaned down to pick her tote bag up from where she'd stashed it behind Mrs. Waterstone's desk. Slinging it over her shoulder, she straightened up and turned to look at the boy, who was standing with the papers he'd just picked up, looking uncertain.

Blaine ventured again. "You don't look it."

"Oh, what do you care?" Exhaustion and stress meant Holly couldn't stop the snap in her voice, and she saw him flinch back from it, a wounded look in his eyes. "Yesterday you ran out of my classroom like I was the Great Satan and thirty minutes ago you treated me like I was a leper. If you're suddenly forgiving me now, then you officially change your tune faster than a NASCAR mechanic can change a flat."

"That's not fair," the junior protested. "I can be angry at you and concerned about you at the same time."

"Yeah, but how come you're _angry_ in the first place?" She crossed her arms over her chest and stood hipshot as she glared. "I actually think it's kind of unfair. I'm trying to help you."

That got him. She saw the fires light in his eyes right before he slapped the papers in his hands down on the desk and marched over to get in her face. "No, _actually_, you're trying to 'do what's best for me' just like every one else does, and _that_ is what pisses me off, because you were one of the few people who didn't do that. Now you've let this one incident at McKinley get you all protective, and I don't think that's you at all, for one thing, so that's annoying. For another, I've said a dozen times that I don't like people meddling with my life. _You. Are. Meddling._ Or trying to."

Suddenly, the clarity brought by adulthood hit Holly between the eyes. He was right. Of course, she was right, too. Which meant they were also, in several ways, both wrong. That was problematic, since they'd both established themselves as people who did not care to admit when they were wrong. Holly knew this could be fixed, of course it could, but she'd exhausted her argumentative ability with Dr. Michaelson. She just could not think of a way to get this sorted today. All she wanted was to go home and let Calgon take her the hell away.

So, okay then.

She gazed at Blaine tiredly, taking in the stubborn set of his chin. "Look. Just do your detention with Mrs. Waterstone the rest of this week. I can't deal with you right now and I don't actually think you want anything to do with me." Glancing at the piles of paper waiting to be stapled, she went on, "She'll be thrilled to have you, judging by this. I'll talk to you some other time, maybe."

Without another word, Holly trudged out the door and headed home, leaving the teenager to stare after his mentor in blank confusion.

**_Author's Note:_**_ I hate writing confrontation! It makes me tired. _

_So I have a Livejournal where I post the occasional blurb about the story and its status and such (a_glass_parade dot Livejournal dot com) but now, having been made aware that I have a Tumblr audience as well who might not visit the LJ, I've gone and made one of those as well (glass-parade dot Tumblr dot com). In the LJ I tend to post the occasional personal blurting as well, and for that I apologize, because that's dull. *L* It'll probably spill to the Tumblr. Sorry, sorry, sorry._

_I want to take a second to really, sincerely thank everyone who alerts or reviews or says anything or just generally loves my little story. I know I thank you all a lot anyway, but, seriously. SERIOUSLY. I have seen people that get actually EXCITED when I post a chapter. I've seen FAN ART, dear lord (it was like, only the once, but it was nice and dude! someone read something I wrote and went, "I have just got to open up Photoshop and make something to go with this," which is only AWESOME). And the reviews that keep coming in. You guys don't know how these things keep me going and give me a reason to finish the story. This began as an experiment for me, to see if I could write a novel-length work at all. I never thought I'd have the follow-through to finish it, and now here we are...we're actually near the end, guys. My outline says five more chapters._

_I could not, sincerely and truly could not have done this without you. Thanks for sticking with me. Here's to the beginning of the end._


	17. Laying Down The Law

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

**_Disclaimer: _**_Glee is not in any way, shape, or form my property. Chapter includes passing references to the episode "Funeral." Rated T for Teen. Warnings: RAMPANT UNASHAMED ANDERBERRY._

**Chapter Sixteen – Laying Down The Law**

_So. Much. Pink._

Blaine flopped back onto the ruffled bedspread, groaning. "Rachel, I feel the need to point out to you that your bedroom is so very, very pink that Mary Kay Ash's estate is considering suing you for infringement of copyright."

"I _like_ pink, Blaine," his friend huffed as she dropped an armful of long-sleeved t-shirts onto his stomach, making him grunt and sit up. "It's a very vibrant and cheerful color, and it looks good on me, so I surround myself with it. Now be quiet and help me pick out what clothing to take with me to New York."

"Kurt should be doing this," he grumbled. "Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I know everything about fashion."

Rachel tweaked his nose. "Kurt is shopping with Mercedes and I know for a fact that you read _Vogue_. That's good enough."

"Fine, then as a person who reads _Vogue_, I am going to have to insist that you take not one single shirt with an animal on it to Nationals, Rachel." Blaine waggled a finger at his friend as he extricated himself from under the pile of clothing and took the shirts back to her closet. "I know you think they're cute and you've got some bizarre ironic attachment to them, but you're going to be in _New York_. There comes a time when every young girl must put away her weird pony fixation. I mean, when _was _the last time you read _Misty of Chincoteague_?"

"Last week." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared stonily at him.

"Okay, well, it's still no." He shook his head. "Kurt will actually break up with me if I don't talk you out of the animal shirts, Rachel. Do you want that? Do you want to be responsible for depriving Kurt and I of the happiness we bring to each other and those around us?"

"Santana says you actually make her want to vomit up her kidneys," the tiny brunette remarked sweetly.

"Santana Lopez has yet to be clinically proven to be in possession of a heart. Or a soul." Blaine busied himself with hanging all of the animal themed shirts back up in the closet, even though he really wanted to start a bonfire with them. It would honestly be for Rachel's own good. "She is not really a reliable indicator of the value a happy relationship can contribute to the world. And you can't distract me from my mission. That's a final no on the animal shirts, Rachel Berry."

The girl slumped into a sulk at her desk. "Fine. Of course, now I have nothing to wear."

"That's just total BS," Blaine snorted, burrowing into the back reaches of the closet. "I'm right here in your closet – hee hee, I'm in the closet – and I see a _treasure trove _of adorable clothing I've never seen you wear. I bet Kurt hasn't either, or he'd throw a temper tantrum at you until you did." His voice grew increasingly more muffled as he ventured further into the wardrobe. "I can't believe you buried this awesome striped coat way back in the back. It's vintage, Rachel! Vintage is always in." The brightly colored jacket flew through the air towards the girl, who caught it and wrinkled her nose at it.

"It's just so..."

"Amazing. The word you're looking for is amazing. Oh, my God, a _capelet_, this is the cutest thing I've ever seen. Where did all of this _come_ from? Look at these dresses!"

Rachel glanced at the open closet door. "My fathers like to take me back to school shopping. Sometimes they get ambitious."

"They have got to wonder why you've never worn any of it. Well, here's your chance, poor abandoned perfect, _perfect_ vintage wardrobe." He emerged with several articles of clothing in his arms, not one of which was printed with argyle or any sort of animal. "All this frankly fantastic clothing and you insist on the Catholic-schoolgirl-pony-fetish look. I do not understand you at all. Pack all of these."

She wandered over to the bed where Blaine was laying out a blue georgette dress. "While I appreciate the wardrobe assistance – well, to a degree, I may never forgive you for the slur on my beloved sweaters – I didn't actually expect you to take an interest in doing so. I had other reasons for wanting you here alone."

A look of trepidation crossed his face as he smoothed out the pleats of the blue dress. "I'm still gay, Rachel."

"I know that." Now she was exasperated. "I wanted to talk to you about your appeals board meeting."

"Ulterior motives. Great." He groaned and smacked her in the arm with a pair of orange tights. "Is there no one in this world who does not want to meddle in my life?"

"Well, on this particular subject, Kurt doesn't, but that's primarily because _Kurt doesn't know_, Blaine. It's next week! When are you going to tell him?"

"Today! Today. Maybe?"

Rachel looked horrified. "Maybe! You _have_ to tell him, Blaine! I've never had to keep a secret this long before. It's killing me!"

"Wow, you must really love me, then."

She pursed her lips and shoved him hard enough that he stumbled a little. "I mean it. No more blackmail – although that was actually supposed to be a joke in the first place, I can't believe you pre-ordered tickets for _Wicked_. No, if you don't tell him, I will."

He stared, horrified. "You. Wouldn't. Dare."

"Please," she scoffed. "I'm the one who told Finn that Quinn's baby was Puck's and not his. There is precedent for me tattling secrets that affect people I love."

"You can't, Rachel. You can't." Blaine dumped the rest of the clothing out of his arms, feeling panic rise in his throat. He had to fight to get any words out. "I'm going to tell him! I've meant to for ages! Things keep happening, it's never a good time. That's not my fault."

"I think you're just not looking hard enough for a good time to tell him." Rachel's tone was the self-righteous one that always made him want to march straight into her closet and cut holes in all of her knee socks. He felt his fists and jaw clench in anger and fear. How could someone so tiny be so entirely full of trouble? They stared at each other in a Mexican standoff.

Rachel won handily, as her stubborn streak was as wide as Miss Holliday's. "Fine," Blaine sighed finally in defeat. "I'll tell him today. I'll find a way to do it and I'll just tell him today."

"Good." Her tone was decisive. "You'll never have a better time. He's working on his audition for the Nationals solo – he'll never take it from me, but I see no need to undermine his confidence - and planning a funeral for Coach Sylvester's sister. Anything you tell him will probably slide under the radar next to all of that."

"Oh my God, Rachel, are you trying to kill me? Or him?" The tenor faceplanted back onto the bed, whining in despair.

"No. I'm trying to one, let you know that there are what I would consider to be more pressing concerns that may dampen the impact of your _very_ belated revelation. Two, I'm trying to get across to you that there's not ever going to be a better time, things will always come up, and you might as well just get it over with."

Blaine pushed up to look at her sourly. "What, like ripping off a Band-Aid all in one go?"

"Exactly!" She beamed down at him and patted his shoulder in consolation. "You'll see. It'll be fine."

"I'm gonna die. Diiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeee." Morosely, he buried his head back in the (so very very pink) bedspread. After a moment or two, he felt the bed dip as Rachel's slight weight settled down beside him.

"Are you," she began, mockery clear in her voice, "quite finished? Because when _I'm_ the one sitting here going, _goodness that's awfully melodramatic_, there's something wrong with the situation, wouldn't you say?"

He felt her tickling the back of his neck and swatted her hand away, rolling onto his back as he did so. "Rachel. I don't even know what exactly I'm going to tell him. You know why? Because I haven't figured out exactly what it is I'm going to do."

"Oh."

"That's why I've been putting it off. I mean, I don't want to get his hopes up unnecessarily. If I decide to stay at Dalton, why does he ever have to know that I was considering going to McKinley?"

"Well..." She paused to think. "You're a couple. From observation of my fathers, I think that he should be involved in the decision, whichever way it goes. I think he would like to be. Wouldn't you, if the tables were turned and he was thinking of going back to Dalton?"

"Yes." Blaine had to admit that this was true. He would want to know. But then Kurt was the sort of person who would want him to know and be involved. Blaine was the sort of person who played his cards close to his chest, who had a hard time letting people in fully and admitting when he needed help. He still had trouble with the concept that he didn't have to do everything himself.

He'd just gotten so _used_ to it. His parents hadn't been particularly...parentlike. And the friends he'd had before he came out had abandoned him. More of his teenage years had been spent going it alone than not, thus far.

It was something of an adjustment, being surrounded by people who _wanted_ to help him. Miss Holliday, Rachel, and the Warblers sort of blundered and blustered their way through doing it. Kurt was more patient, seeming to understand that Blaine needed to come to things in his own time. Kurt also sweetly didn't point out that Blaine's concept of "his own time" often ran to the unnecessarily long, which really was just one more point in the 'Kurt Hummel Is Very Nearly A Perfect Boyfriend' scoring column.

_...the best thing is when both people in a relationship are strong enough to hold __**each other**__ up._

Miss Holliday's know-it-all voice barged into his wandering thought processes, all unwelcome and infuriatingly right. _Shut up,_ he thought back, and felt immediately stupid because of course, all he was doing was talking to himself.

Rachel wriggled impatiently beside him. She had been waiting quietly while he lost himself in thought, which was nice of her, but of course it couldn't last long. "What are you thinking?"

"That I really need to get better about telling Kurt about my life," he confessed honestly.

She rolled her eyes. "I've only been trying to tell you this for weeks."

"I know. You and everyone else. It's a process, okay? My first relationship kind of came at a bad time, as it turns out. Give me a break." He sat up, brushing a hand down the back of his head. "I just wish I knew what I wanted to _do._"

She was silent for a long while and he looked over to see that she was deep in thought, tapping absently at her bottom lip. When he reached over and gently seized her hand, she focused back on him. "You said people were meddling. Who else is meddling?"

"The Warblers – well, at first, but I got them to back off. Miss Holliday. That's it."

"Oh, you talked to her?"

He nodded. "Yeah. A few times."

"And what did she say?" Rachel sounded like a parent coaching their toddler through a pageant speech, he thought. Well, maybe that wasn't so surprising, judging from the trophies he could see, certainly she had a lot of experience _listening_ to those sorts of speeches. It shouldn't surprise him that she could parrot the general tone back. "Blaine? _Blaine. _Focus."

He snapped his attention back to her. "Um. Pretty much what you did. Talk to Kurt, it affects him too, that kind of thing."

"Hm. Nothing you don't already know then."

"Not really." Blaine decided to leave out the insights about how it wasn't cowardly to stay in a place you liked and how angry it had made him to realize that the teacher was right. He didn't think he could take Rachel's eyes lighting up with understanding, or the inevitable subsequent psychoanalysis that would follow.

"We could make a list," the girl offered, leaning over to rummage through her bedside table. She produced a purple notebook and an ink pen, balancing the former on her lap while clicking the latter open. "The pros and cons."

He shook his head. "I've done that. It all balances out when you take everything into account. Even seeing firsthand what the Neanderthals at McKinley are capable of hasn't really tipped the scales one way or the other."

"Hm." She set the pen and paper aside and crossed her legs on the bed, Indian style. "That's surprising. Because frankly, all of us considered transferring to Dalton or Crawford after _that_ one."

Blaine glanced back over his shoulder, startled. "Really?'

"Of course. Can you imagine? Becoming famous and then having the press find out you graduated from that high school in Ohio that voted the gay boy Prom Queen as a vicious prank? Who wants to be associated with that?" At her friend's amazed stare, she let out a laugh. "That was a joke, Blaine. Several of us did actually discuss it over pancakes, but only because we're tired of those idiots and the lack of intervention from the administration."

"Why did you decide against it?" He was genuinely curious, though he knew they couldn't have discussed it seriously at all for more than a few seconds.

Rachel shrugged. "Apart from the exorbitant cost of tuition and commuting or boarding? McKinley is home. We've been there for three years now. For the last two, we've been there for each other. Well. More or less." She leaned back on her hands, her dark hair spilling down her spine as she tipped her head back and yawned before continuing. "It's home and a family. It's what we know."

_Home and a family._

He had to admit that right there was the crux of his argument for staying at Dalton. Could it really be so simple? No, of course not. He really loved the idea of being able to see Kurt every day, to be able to pass him in the hallways and smile, to spend their after school hours doing homework together and then falling into a tangle of kisses and hands and pressing and – no, no, back off, stop stop abort abort _Rachel is right there._

He would never tell his best girl friend just how effective a cockblock he found her to be. _Never._

_Focus. _This is what it came down to, wasn't it? The choice was between Kurt and Dalton. Of course, if he really thought about it, who told him he had to make a choice, anyway? It was all but a foregone conclusion that he would ace the appeal, according to Dr. Michaelson. He didn't really have to choose at all.

But he really, really, _really_ wanted to be with Kurt, and he really liked the idea of choosing to go to McKinley instead of being forced to go anywhere. Then again, he liked Dalton _in spite_ of being shunted there by his parents.

_Wow,_ he thought. _This is really giving me some serious practice for choosing a college next year._ He and Kurt had discussed that subject on a couple of occasions. Crap. Wait. _He and Kurt had discussed the topic of choosing schools for college._ He could discuss a four year plan – that was shaping up to involve out of state tuition, if Kurt got his way about New York City – with his boyfriend of a month but not the comparatively simple question of which Ohio high school Blaine might choose for his senior year?

"I have to talk to Kurt," he groaned.

Rachel looked confused at the apparent _non sequitur._ "Well, of course you do. What does that have to do with – oh, I see. You were thinking again."

"Yeah." Picking at a loose thread on the bedspread, he went on. "Overthinking. As usual." One of his more irksome characteristics, that was. Along with obliviousness, obstinacy, and no doubt a dozen other uncomplimentary things that started with the letter O.

Blaine wondered if it was possible to hate a letter of the alphabet.

"We all have our vices," his friend replied lightly, making him smile and momentarily distracting him from his self-doubt spiral. "What are you overthinking now?"

"How Kurt and I have discussed going off to college more or less together but I can't even bring up where I might want to finish high school. I'm an idiot." He slapped his face into his palm so fast that Rachel winced at the smacking sound it made. She shuffled across the candy colored bedspread to sit closer to him.

"Stop that." Tapping him on the shoulder, she gestured for him to lean back. Before he could question it, his head was in her lap, and he was looking up at her fondly amused eyes and the curtain formed by her hair. "You're not an idiot. You can't see the big picture _all_ of the time, Blaine. No one can."

"Yeah, but given how much my parents are spending on my high school education, you'd think I'd manage to see it a little more often."

She brushed her fingers through the loose waves dipping over his forehead. "I like your hair when you don't style it so rigidly." She paused to think, returned to the conversation a moment later. "High school is for calculus and world history. It's not so big on the life skills, I've learned to my chagrin."

"Tell me about it." He closed his eyes, Rachel's fingers in his hair reminding him of a time when his mother wasn't so distant and unable to relate to him. He felt safe, content, and a little dozy. "It's hard for me to understand the concept of a partnership," he mumbled sleepily. "I've never really had one."

"Of course you have." Rachel sounded genuinely perplexed, and he opened his eyes to see that she looked it as well. "Are you telling me that one person makes all the decisions for the Warblers?"

"What?"

"The Warblers are a partnership," she explained patiently. "It's not just one person deciding what's best, right? It's at least the Council and, of course, you as their lead. That's a partnership. Like New Directions. I've learned how to let go and understand that everyone else's input is nearly as valuable as mine."

Blaine decided to let that last one slide. With Rachel it was best to pick your battles. "I guess you have a point."

"Naturally, I do." Her hand stilled, briefly. "I know it must obviously be different when it's a romantic partnership – my experience is somewhat limited, as you know."

"Maybe. I think the principle is the same, though." He let out a gusty sigh. "I just have to get my brain around it."

"I have every confidence that you'll do so."

"I'm glad one of us does." He yawned, then yelped in surprise as Rachel dumped his head out of her lap and scrambled off the bed. "Hey!"

"No falling asleep on me, Blaine. Come on." She grabbed the front of his Dalton sweatshirt and hauled him to his feet, shoving him towards her closet. "I think we've covered all the territory we can as far as your decision goes. Now, since you're here and you've demonstrated a surprisingly ample interest in helping me pack for Nationals, let's get back to that. Go find me the best knee socks for the trip."

As he stumbled towards the closet door, Blaine thought quite strongly that rather than go through Rachel Berry's alarmingly copious knee sock collection, he'd prefer trying to have his serious discussion with Kurt while hopping on one leg and attempting to consume a plateful of live bees.

**_Author's Note: _**_I think my brain is about to dribble out of my ears. I've written this and a prologue for a new fic (at my LJ, because it's going to go into adult themes. LJ username a_glass_parade if historical romance fiction is your thing, the story is called "Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns") in the last twenty-four hours, and I just...ow. OW._

_But. Four chapters to go. I've set a schedule that Wednesdays are dedicated to finishing MHGTD, so if I keep this up, we'll be done in four weeks. I will miss this silly story._

_Thank you all so, so much again for the alerts, recommendations, and feedback. I am going to go faceplant into a pillow now._


	18. Trying Hard To Be Your Tower Of Strength

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_Disclaimers: I do not own Glee, but I think it's really neat. Rated T for sprinkled bits of adult language and boys making out. Chapter makes passing references to events that would be coming up in episode 2x22, "New York." But if you haven't watched the season that far, why are you reading this? ;)_

**Chapter Seventeen – Trying Hard To Be Your Tower Of Strength**

_I will not throw this phone across the room,_ Blaine told himself. _I won't do it. I'd never be able to lie to Dad's face about how it got broken, and I don't feel like going through and collecting everyone's numbers again._

But as he looked down at the screen of the device and read the message shining from it, his resolve weakened slightly.

Message From Tiny Irritating Diva:_ Don't forget to tell Kurt you might transfer. I'd hate to be the one to spill the secret while we're on the plane to Nationals!_

His teeth clenched down so tightly that he had to remind himself to back off before he chipped a molar. _So much for "oh, but the blackmail was a joke," _he thought, viciously stabbing out a reply.

Message From Blaine Warbler: _I will end you, Rachel Berry._

"What's so interesting?" Kurt slipped into his seat at the table and pushed Blaine's medium drip across to him.

"Nothing. Just Rachel being...you know. Rachel, taunting me about Nationals." Blaine fibbed smoothly, shoving his phone into his pocket. It wasn't entirely a lie, really. Both taunting and Nationals had been involved in her text. He picked up his coffee and took a long drink. "Mmm. You are truly the best boyfriend ever."

"I know. It's great, isn't it?" Kurt's grin took the egotism out of his response. "You're a very lucky fellow, Blaine Anderson."

"I'd say that you're pretty lucky yourself, good sir." Blaine pointed his pencil down at the US History essay he was about to proofread for his boyfriend. "I mean, dashing good looks, charm, generosity and intelligence all in one man? I don't know how you handle me."

"The fact that I hardly see you in anything besides a prep school uniform does tend to humanize you a bit," the other boy mused, teasing light in his airy tone.

"Touché." He bent his head back down over the paper. "Kurt. This is supposed to be an essay on US History."

"It _is _an essay on US History."

Blaine's mouth twitched as he worked not to laugh. "It seems to have a rather...specialized...focus on New York."

"But..." Kurt's face fell. "But New York is an important city."

"True. True." He reached across and squeezed Kurt's hand reassuringly. "It's just that I don't think your teacher really cares about Diane von Furstenberg."

"What?" Kurt snatched the essay back. "Oh, damn. That's not my essay for class. This is a rough draft of my entrance essay to FIT."

"Really? Wow. Already?" Blaine felt his cheeks turn pink with embarrassment at himself. He couldn't decide where he wanted to go to high school next year, and here was his boyfriend already drafting entrance essays? He seriously had to get himself together. Which was partly why they were here – he had thought perhaps if he told Kurt in public, then maybe his boyfriend wouldn't kill him when it inevitably came out that Rachel had known about this mess before he did.

What? It was worth a shot. It totally was.

" - and I was thinking of including my Prom kilt in the portfolio. Despite the questionable memories associated with the thing, it's an excellent example of my pleating skills." Kurt jostled Blaine's hand when he realized that the other boy had gotten lost in thought and wasn't paying attention. "Blaine?"

He shook himself to awareness. "I think adding your kilt is a great idea. It's a great piece, and you look great in it."

"Thank you." Kurt gazed at him inquiringly, and not without concern. "Are you all right? We don't have to be here doing homework. It's a nice afternoon, we can go somewhere else and not be stuck inside."

"I'm fine, really." _Apart from the fact that I have no idea how to talk to you about what should really be a much simpler decision than it has been._ "I'd rather just get the homework out of the way first. Leaves us the whole rest of the weekend for...um, shenanigans."

Kurt raised one arch eyebrow. "Is that what we're calling it now? And I thought I was the baby penguin. Your discretion is nearly an art form."

"I like to think I'm a master of many trades," Blaine shrugged, blushing again.

"I won't argue." Kurt had a speculative look on his face. "Be right back." He was up and off in a flash, leaving Blaine to stare after him in confusion. What had that been about? And why was his phone buzzing again?

Message From Tiny Irritating Diva: _You're all talk and no follow-through. I have no fear for my safety as far as you're concerned. Have you told him?_

It took him five attempts to write and send a message that wouldn't completely offend his friend, whom he really liked even as he felt the distinct urge to strangle her.

Message From Blaine Warbler: _I'm doing it tonight, okay? Now hush._

He clicked the phone all the way off just for good measure. Now left with no distraction from Rachel, no Kurt at the table and no history essay to read, Blaine went back to figuring out how he was going to bring up his possible transfer when Kurt came back. Because he really had to do it now, no question. It was next week, he wasn't going to get another chance to be alone with Kurt except for this weekend, and he didn't want to do it over the phone. And he really needed Kurt's input. Like a tiebreaker.

All he had to do was actually _bring it up_. No big deal. Piece of cake. Simple as can be. Sure it was. That was totally why he'd been able to bring it up to Kurt effortlessly and repeatedly over the last few weeks.

Blaine dropped his face into his hand and whimpered.

"None of that, thank you. I return bearing gifts." Kurt set a bag of biscotti on the table and resumed his seat.

"What's this?"

"It's a bribe." Kurt flashed a brilliant smile at his boyfriend before taking a sip of his mocha. "I'm hoping my gift of sub-par coffee and bargain basement biscotti will woo and seduce you into dropping the idea of homework in favor of making out with me for the rest of the evening and most of the weekend."

Blaine leaned back in his chair, tossing his pencil down and grabbing a cookie before doing so. "Why, Mr. Hummel, there's no need to go to so much trouble. I'd have done _that_ for Maxwell House and Chips Ahoy."

"I am horrified, Mr. Anderson, utterly horrified that you think I'd sell myself so cheaply. I may never get over the offense." The look of affront on Kurt's face was utterly spoiled by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "You _wound_ me."

"Yeah, like a pop gun wounds a war tank, maybe," Blaine snorted. "We'd make out with each other for _free_ and you know it."

Kurt nodded and shrugged. "It's true. We would. We're shameless."

"Wanton tramps," Blaine agreed.

This sent them off into fits of helpless chortling for several long minutes_. Long_ minutes – Blaine couldn't even look at Kurt without setting him off again, and it was true the other way around as well. They clutched at their coffee cups to keep from jostling them off the table with the shaking their laughter was causing.

"Stop...stop lo-looking at me, Bl-a-ah-aine," Kurt choked out. "I ca-ah-an't...breathe."

"You fir-ir-irst," Blaine wheezed in reply.

They eventually had to resort to covering their eyes and taking deep, calming breaths until they were nearly dizzy with excess oxygen. Blaine cracked open an eye to look at his boyfriend, opened both of them when it was clear that he wasn't going to fall out again. Gently, he nudged Kurt's foot with his own. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. I think we're okay."

"Thank goodness." Kurt opened his eyes and shook his head, smiling indulgently at the boy across the table. "I was afraid we'd end up getting kicked out."

Blaine blinked. "Would that have been such a bad thing? I thought our evening plans involved being somewhere else anyway, so that we could make - "

He failed utterly to finish the sentence what with Kurt, interpreting his words as an opportunity not to be missed, all but leaping out of his chair, seizing Blaine by the wrist and dragging him out of the coffee shop. They were in his Passat with Kurt's tongue down his throat so fast his head was spinning. "Mmph...Kurt..." Had they even remembered to grab their belongings? Weren't they supposed to be doing homework? Or did he have something to talk to Kurt about?

Wait, did he care about _any of that_? No. No, he did not.

"God, I love having a boyfriend who wears ties," Kurt gasped from his vantage point astride Blaine's hips, tightening a fist around the accessory in question. Blaine was about to take a breath and ask why, exactly, when the point was amply clarified for him as Kurt hauled him back in for another window-steaming kiss. _Oh._

This was really changing Blaine's own views on ties. It had never occurred to him that they could be so very useful. Okay, he was going to have a few problems walking comfortably around other tie-wearing Dalton boys for the next few weeks, but – _shit. Dalton._ The reminder slammed into his brain with the force of a freight train, completely killing the mood. "Kurt, wait," he blurted out, breaking free to place his hands on the other boy's hips and gently lift him away, ignoring the minor twinge of regret emitting from his more southern regions. "Hold on."

Kurt's lips were bee-stung from the kissing, his eyes plaintive with its cessation. "But I was having fun," he pouted.

"Trust me, so was I." Blaine adjusted his blazer to discreetly conceal just how much fun he'd been having. "But you reminded me that I need to talk to you about something." This was entirely awkward, but he knew if they really got into it, he'd spend the rest of the weekend on an archaeological expedition of Kurt's throat led by Blaine's tongue. He needed to stop looking for an appropriate place and time to bring this up and just go for it.

Besides, it wasn't like he had ever been particularly good at appropriate timing. He was amazed he'd even tried. He looked over at his boyfriend, who was sitting very still and looking completely horrified.

"Oh my God. Are we breaking up?" Kurt's eyes were wide and glass-green with sudden distress.

"Why does everyone always assume that?" Blaine grumbled. "No, we're not breaking up. God, Kurt, you actually think I could dump someone who kisses like you do? Use that sexy, intelligent brain of yours for a second."

Kurt preened a little at that before returning to his state of worry. "Okay, fine, that was a moment of irrational panic. It's just that when you hear someone say 'we need to talk' in the movies, it ends up with someone getting dumped."

"Yeah, well, life is not the movies, remember?" And wasn't _that_ a crying shame, Blaine thought, because if it were, someone would have tied up this wandering plot device a long time ago, and they'd have written him a better speech than he was about to make. And they'd still be in the Lima Bean as he'd planned, instead of out in his car interrupting a steamy makeout session. Damn his libido overriding common sense. "This is about my appeal."

"I do find you _very_ appealing," Kurt leered, leaning across the console to wind his fingers into Blaine's tie again. Blaine patiently untangled his boyfriend's wandering hand and held it loosely.

"Clever, but I meant my appeals board meeting." _Deep breaths, Blaine. In...out. _"It's next week."

"And you'll ace it." Kurt's tone was confident. "It's going to be a piece of cake for you."

"It doesn't _have_ to be." He bit his lip, glancing sidelong at his boyfriend, who frowned in confusion.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Blaine turned Kurt's hand to face palm up and began tracing pictures in it with his own fingers. "I could throw it." He knew he was being pretty douchey, drawing this out one agonizing sentence at a time, making Kurt fight for answers, but he was apparently still somehow determined to put this moment off as long as possible, even down to the wire.

It was beginning to piss Kurt off, he could tell. "And why, Blaine," the other boy gritted out, "would you want to do something like that?"

_Spit it out_, his inner voice howled, so he finally did. "So that I would have to transfer to McKinley."

The very air inside the car stilled, his words hanging heavily between them. Kurt's face was a study in wonder and worry. Blaine ducked his head down and resumed his inkless doodling on the slender hand that he held, sketching invisible hearts and stars and music notes until his canvas was yanked away. He looked back up to see Kurt still staring at him, mouth hinged just slightly open in astonishment.

"Well?"

Kurt shook his head. "Don't say that if you don't mean it."

"I mean it. Well. I mean that it's a possibility." He couldn't stop moving his hands in nervous tics. Deprived of the privilege of holding Kurt's hand, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, aimless patterns filling the silence. "I could do it."

"How? No. Wait. I remember – your aunt." Kurt tugged agitatedly at the scarf around his throat. "That answers that, so...why?"

Rachel's long-ago warning whispered through his brain. _Don't base it just on Kurt. He wouldn't like that. _Okay. He could choose another perfectly valid reason with which to lead off. "A few reasons...but a big part of it would be a chance for me to stop running from adversity."

Confusion twisted the other boy's face. "I didn't realize you were still fixated on feeling like a coward, Blaine. Don't you know you're not?"

_Not really, Kurt._ "How would I know I'm not, if I'm just hiding away in a safe house?"

"Dalton isn't merely a 'safe house,'" Kurt objected. "You know better than that. Besides, if you wanted to stop running – and I'm not saying you were running in the first place – wouldn't you just go back to your old school? Which, please, I would rather you not."

"I'd rather not either. McKinley seemed like a good subst - "

"Wait, is this about me at all?" Kurt sat up very straight in his seat, twisting to look Blaine squarely in the eyes. "About us?"

For the first time in his life, Blaine regretted both his attraction to gorgeous, smart boys and his own inability to lie with a straight face. Though admittedly, he regretted the latter about a thousand times more than the former. "I can't lie. There...is some of that in there as well, Kurt." Oh, good. The awkward half-stutter was coming back. "I mean...I really miss you."

"I miss you, too. So much." Pale hands came up to cup Blaine's face, fingers gently stroking the 5 o'clock shadow along his jawline. "But Blaine, I can't let you uproot yourself for the second time in your high school career just for us."

Hurt flashed through his heart. "Don't you want me around?" His voice cracked, just slightly, and he cursed inwardly. _Why am I so weak?_

"I do, I do, of course I do, more than you know." Kurt was babbling and trying to get closer to Blaine. Unfortunately, he was hampered by the emergency brake between them. "Damn bucket seats. Blaine, yes, I would _love_ for you to be at McKinley so I can see your gorgeous, charming self every day and spend so much time with you that we will be absolutely and utterly sick of each other. But I don't want to be the main reason for you to just change everything all over again! That's too much."

"It's not just you, though," Blaine reminded him. "It's really not. I love being at Dalton, but I didn't entirely _choose_ to go there, you know that." He took a deep breath. "It's felt like...like I've lost control of my entire life since I came out – I lost all my friends because they couldn't deal with it, I lost my parents because _they_ can't deal with it, I had to leave my school and everything I've known because a bunch of homophobic bullies _seriously_ couldn't deal with it and so then I got shoved into Dalton and I found you but I've lost you again because you've gone back to _your_ school and now Dalton wants to kick me out..." He'd been getting progressively more frantic as he blurted out his speech, trying to get all of the words out without stumbling. Unfortunately, he had neglected to sketch out an ending. "I just wanted to _choose_ my direction, for once," he finished lamely.

Kurt lunged across the console to gather his sad-faced boyfriend into his arms. "Oh, _honey._"

"It's been a _horrible_ month," Blaine mumbled into Kurt's shoulder, clutching tight.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Kurt wondered aloud. "All this time you've been focused on me and my drama – oh, right. This is you we're talking about. Walls and deflection and a stubborn refusal to open up and admit that anything's wrong." He pulled back and took hold of Blaine's face again, placing a soft kiss on his lips before resting their foreheads together. "That's going to eat you alive one day."

"I know." He took a long, shuddering breath. "I've been trying to just get this out and tell you all month. Miss Holliday and Rachel kept telling me - "

Kurt sat back, spine straight and eyebrows shooting towards his hairline. "Excuse me? _Rachel_? You told _Rachel Berry_ about this but not me?"

Uh-oh. Blaine felt his mouth opening and closing, but funny, no words were coming out. "I, um."

"I can't even believe you. And Miss Holliday, too? Well, whatever on that one, I guess I can't blame you for wanting an adult perspective on the whole thing...as close as you could manage, anyway. But _Rachel_ knew first?" Kurt was clearly hurt and angry. "Of all people?"

"Of all people? She's one of my best friends next to you and the Warblers," Blaine pointed out. "And if it helps, she's been nagging me to talk to you about this from the beginning. I've had to buy her silence while I figured out how to tell you."

"Yet in the end you ended up breaking off a makeout session to do it and now I'm mad because you talked to Rachel first. How's that working out for you?" Kurt slumped down in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest and obviously sulking.

He wasn't running out and away, though. That was good. Although, Blaine realized, that was probably mostly because they'd taken his car instead of Kurt's and therefore Kurt was sort of trapped and not _able_ to run away. Okay, maybe not so good. "I'm sorry, Kurt," he offered.

"Just...why?" Kurt wouldn't look at him. "Why couldn't you just talk to me about it?"

Blaine wrapped his own arms around himself. "I didn't want to burden you with my weakness."

A snort, then an indulgent sigh from the other side of the car. "This from the guy who's held me together most of this year, including just last week – or had you forgotten?" One slender hand extended to bridge the gap between the seats and began trying to pull Blaine's arms loose. "You texted me 'courage' before you really knew me but wanted to help me anyway, you went to Prom with me even though you were scared, you stood up in the middle of the Gap and sang the most horrifically inappropriate song to some half-closeted boy with _terrible_ hair. How can you see yourself as weak, Blaine?"

"Because I still ran," he muttered, allowing Kurt to take one of his hands. "I still ran when I couldn't take it any more."

"I don't see it as running so much as trying to keep yourself safe, Blaine." Now Kurt was the one drawing transparent doodles on Blaine's hand. "And I can't see that as a thing to regret, ever. Do you know why?"

Blaine shook his head, mutely.

"Because if you hadn't gone to Dalton, we'd never have met. I'd never give that up. I hope you wouldn't, either."

"Never." Blaine felt a smile beginning to tilt up the corners of his mouth. "Not ever."

His boyfriend – having apparently swiftly forgiven him - leaned over again to twine them together in another hug. "I don't care where you go to school next year, Blaine," Kurt breathed into his ear. "I'd be happy to have you full-time or just on weekends as long as I _have you._ But please, _please_ don't transfer to McKinley only because you miss me or because you think you have to redeem yourself for a cowardice no one but you feels." He paused. "And whatever you decide, tell me first. Not Rachel. I'm your boyfriend, not her. I can take whatever you have to tell me - short of dumping me."

"I know, I know. I just..." Blaine sighed. "I know. Never again. I really am sorry, Kurt."

"I am too. For being so caught up in my own drama that I didn't push hard enough to find out what was going on with you." Kurt pulled them even tighter together. "Please, Blaine, don't ever again assume that I shouldn't be 'burdened' with your problems. I've been sidelined and watching the insanity of New Directions for _so_ long, the one thing I've learned – well, besides 'don't sleep with your best friend's girlfriend' - is that communication has to go both ways or it doesn't work."

"The best thing is when both people in a relationship are strong enough to hold each other up, right?" Blaine chuckled under his breath as the wisdom in the words finally, truly hit home.

Kurt nodded and beamed. "That sounds good to me. Who said that?"

"You'll be shocked. It was Miss Holliday."

"The serial dater and man-eater? Wow."

"_I know._" Blaine shook his head. "Who'd have thought it? She can actually pretend to be a functioning adult."

"I'd almost transfer back to Dalton for the last two weeks of the school year just to see that." Kurt crawled over and reclaimed his perch in Blaine's lap, playing with the lapels of his blazer. "So, anyway. Is that an agreement? No more secrets or assuming you're weak or that I don't need to be bothered with problems?"

"It's an agreement that I will at least work on it," Blaine replied, feeling suddenly short of breath and slightly dizzy.

"Then let's seal it with a kiss." Kurt grabbed his face again, pulling their mouths together and biting his lower lip a little aggressively. Blaine felt his hands clench into fists around handfuls of the other boy's designer jacket. He was _so_ on board with this.

"Let's fight more often," he mumbled around Kurt's tongue. "So we can make up like this _every time_."

That got Kurt to break the kiss and slap at his arm playfully. "You're sick in the head, Blaine."

"It just seems like a fun way to solve arguments," Blaine countered, eliciting a groan from the boy in his lap.

"How about we just make out all the time and _not have arguments_, Blaine? Hm? How about that?"

He pretended to consider it – for all of ten seconds. "Okay. Deal." He yanked Kurt's head back down for more. Whatever got him thoroughly kissed was okay by him. It wasn't long, though, before Kurt broke it off again and sat back with a questioning look on his face.

"Hm. Didn't you say you bought Rachel's silence? For an entire month? How'd you manage that?"

"Show tickets," Blaine sighed, trying and failing to pull Kurt back down again. "Yes, we're all going to see _Wicked. _And _Mamma Mia. _And just for good measure, _Les Miz_ in Toledo in November. I'll get to take the two of you around my hometown. Possibly have dinner with my parents, though I'm not totally cool with that idea."

"Eeeee!" Kurt bounced up and down on his lap, clapping happily and causing Blaine to go nearly cross-eyed with the excitement currently going on below his belt. "I don't care about dinner with your parents. Everything else makes me completely forgive you. I demand that you give me more kisses right now, Blaine Anderson."

Blaine, feeling immensely lighter and freed at last from the burden of keeping secrets from Kurt, had absolutely no problem complying with that order.

_**Author's Note:** The title of the chapter comes from the Heather Nova song "Heart and Shoulder," which has been on my personal Klaine playlist since "Prom Queen." Love me some Heather Nova._

_Coming Up: The Warblers notice that Holly and Blaine aren't speaking, and decide to fix it. OBVIOUSLY there is no way this can go wrong._


	19. Keep It In The Closet

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_Disclaimers: Glee=not mine. Rated T for language. Chapter runs around the time of episode 2x22, "New York," but makes no references to events in the episode. Sorry for the chapter title getting that Michael Jackson song stuck in your head._

**Chapter Eighteen – Keep It In The Closet**

"It's been way over a week. I haven't seen them so much as nod in each other's direction." David propped his elbows up on the table and leaned in to talk more quietly with the other Warblers. "I don't know what went wrong, but it's seriously creeping me out."

Everyone glanced across the rehearsal hall to where Holly and Blaine were pointedly and awkwardly ignoring each other. Since the only performance the group had left was Dalton's end-of-year assembly, meetings were now mostly being used for a quick run-through of the handful of songs they'd do, and the rest of it was for collaborative finals study.

Or, if you were David, it was for plotting and conspiracy. Much more entertaining than reviewing his notes for Madame Ducharme's French IV class. Who needed to know how to ask the cost of that wheel of cheese, or the best way to get to the nearest RER station headed for Charles de Gaulle airport? This was much more important.

(David would of course come to regret this attitude deeply in the future, specifically when he was backpacking through Europe, but that's another story)

"He hasn't said anything to me." Nick shrugged over his Calculus flash cards. "It's no big deal, right? She'll be gone in a week and a half anyway."

"Hasn't Blaine been unhappy enough this year, Nicholas?" David reached across and grabbed Nick's hand, deeply disturbing the sophomore with the slightly manic look in his eyes. "We owe it to our friend to keep him happy."

"We made him happy," Wes pointed out from his end of the table, where he and Thad were finalizing Thad's Biochemistry paper. "We let him sing that duet with Kurt at Regionals. Now they're together. Blaine's weird friendship with an even weirder teacher is kind of not our concern, no matter how much we like her."

"No? If he is unhappy, he might leave, and then who's going to ride herd over this merry band of lunatics after we're gone, Wesley?" David looked around the table. "I mean, has Blaine made a decision about whether or not he's going to McKinley?"

No one spoke. Papers were shuffled and boys adjusted their sitting positions, but no one spoke.

"Yeah, thought not. Not one that he's shared with anyone, anyway. Come on, guys. One last helping hand for our good friend? Don't do it for me. Do it for Blaine."

They all looked across the room again, just in time to see the substitute and their lead singer go to great lengths to avoid even making eye contact. Holly was studiously grading a blank sheet of paper, and unless there was a very odd assignment no one else knew about, Blaine wasn't going to get a whole lot of use out of reading his English Lit textbook upside down.

"That is just pathetic," Flint observed. No one disagreed.

"Exactly. So let's do this. I have a plan..." David pulled a folder out from under his French dictionary and opened it to reveal several copies of an outline and a supply list that he passed around to the other guys. Everyone bent their heads over the papers with interest and got to work.

* * *

><p>Blaine was sitting in the Commons with his World History review, ostensibly studying for the final but in actuality trying to psychoanalyze himself and not doing a very good job of it.<p>

He occasionally thought that his parents might have been better off sending him to therapy than to an expensive private school. Yes, he was, all things considered, a remarkably well-adjusted young man. But his inability to admit that he might be wrong about things was a problem.

Miss Holliday hadn't spoken to him in well over a week. Not that he'd tried to speak to her, either, though he knew he needed to since his appeal was in the morning. He'd decided that he wasn't going to throw the thing – he and Kurt had talked about it all well through most of their weekend together, and in the end his boyfriend had managed to point out that he could probably just win the appeal and decide to transfer anyway, if he thought he wanted to and his parents were hip to it – so he figured he probably needed to be on some kind of speaking terms with his mentor.

Except that he did sort of still resent her attempts to meddle, a little. Plus it was infuriating that she was acting like the petulant toddler she had accused him of being. At least _he_ had the excuse of being a mixed-up teenager. _She_ was in her mid-thirties, college educated and a licensed teacher in the state of Ohio. Blaine felt that it was not too much to ask for one's adult mentor to behave like a...well, an adult. Sometimes. Not all the time. Just when it was important. Like now.

But the last several weeks dealing with Holly Holliday had convinced Blaine that attempting to point something like that out was the quickest path to detention, and he had pretty much already filled his paper-stapling quota for the next ten years. Risk that again? No, thank you.

So he was waiting – somewhat in vain, he knew – for her to make the first move towards reconciliation. It was going badly, or more accurately, it wasn't going at all. The other guys were beginning to notice, too; he'd seen them at rehearsal/study hall yesterday, looking at the two of them and talking amongst themselves. They seemed to end up being as much at a loss as he was, though, and no one had said anything to him, so apparently they didn't have any ideas either.

He sighed noisily. _What a mess._ Turning his attention back towards his review, he only managed to get through a couple more questions before a commotion across the Commons made him lift his head out of curiosity. David was sprinting across the room, headed directly for him.

"Anderson! Thank God." David skidded to a stop, breathless and frantic. Blaine stared at his friend in confusion. "I've been looking for someone to help. Come with me."

"Wait, what? Help? Why?"

"Do you always ask this many questions when someone comes running up to you asking for _help_? I need you. Come _on_." David tugged at Blaine's arm, dragging him up to his feet and setting off at a sprint. Blaine barely had time to snag his satchel before they were off and heading towards Dunstable Hall.

"What the hell, David?"

"It's Nick. He went into the music library closet for something. I just found him there all passed out. It looks like he got a libretto to the head, Anderson. It's not good. I need you to help me extract him."

"And no one else was available?" Blaine tried to yank his arm free, but David had a surprisingly strong grip. He was thankful that he was in pretty good shape, so he could keep up at a run alongside of the older boy's longer-legged strides.

"Blaine, for real, you're a terrible Good Samaritan. I'm glad I am not stopping to answer your questions or Nick would be, like, dead by now."

Blaine shut up for the rest of the sprint to Dunstable. But seriously, Dunstable and the Commons were a fifteen minute walk apart, and David didn't run into anyone else to help him? Something wasn't sitting right. Still, if Nick was in danger, he was definitely glad to help. It was just weird.

All considerations of the bizarreness of the situation fled his head when they arrived in the music library - really a roomy little closet in the rehearsal hall - and he saw Nick stretched out on the floor, a large, leatherbound copy of Wagner's "Ring Cycle" laying in disarray by his head. He'd never understood why they owned the thing in the first place – the Warblers never sang opera, and it was too long for any music appreciation class to cover in full. The Warblers usually just used it as a doorstop for the spring-loaded library door. If Nick had been hit by it...Blaine shuddered and threw his bag off before running into the closet to kneel by his friend.

"Holy crap, David, you need to call 911 if he got hit by this thing." Blaine grabbed Nick's wrist and fumbled for his pulse, trying not to worry at the other boy's shallow breathing.

"Is your phone in your bag, Blaine?" David's voice came from behind Blaine, causing him to jump.

"Yeah, where's yours?"

"Got in the way of Wes' gavel. It's at the shop." Quietly, David picked up the satchel and took it outside, stashing it behind a bookshelf. "I'm calling now."

Blaine heard him mumbling. "Tell them his pulse is okay and he's breathing!" He looked down at his friend, worried. "Oh, man, that had to hurt. I hope you're okay, Nick."

Nick opened his eyes and sat up. "Yeah, I'm fine."

_What?_ "Nick, man, lay down, don't move so fast." Blaine was confused again. Anyone who got hit in the head with a ten pound book shouldn't be awake and moving, right?

"It's okay, Blaine. I'm fine, and I'm so sorry." Nick bit his lip, looking very guilty as David slipped back into the closet behind Blaine.

"For what?" And then he felt it – the satiny feel of a Dalton uniform tie knotted snugly around each wrist and then quickly attached firmly to the legs of the desk behind him. "David! Nick! The fuck! Let me go!"

"Can't, dude." Nick raised his hands and stood up, backing out of the closet. David remained behind, fishing one last tie out of his pocket.

"I am going to _kill you,_" Blaine hissed, kicking wildly at his newly ex-friend. "I hate you with my _brainfire._"

"Yeah, well, goodie for you, you just go right on doing that," David sighed and adroitly avoided Blaine's kicks. "I promise we're only trying to help."

"Helping me does not invol – mrrrph! Mmmph! Mro!"

David had slipped the last tie around Blaine's head and tied it off to act as a gag. "Honestly, I don't know why anyone ever thought uniforms were a good idea. The accessories just lend themselves way too much to trouble. Hang tight, Anderson, you'll have company in a little while."

"_Rrrrrrrrrrnnnnngggggh._"

Boy, David was sure glad he was leaving Dalton soon. He wondered if it would be feasible to avoid Blaine until then. He was pretty certain that no matter the outcome of this, he wasn't going to be forgiven any time in the immediate future.

Nick, waiting outside with wide eyes and second thoughts, was suddenly very, very sorry that he'd signed up to tie his roommate to a desk and lock him in a closet, even if it _was_ for a good cause.

* * *

><p>"Miss Holliday, please, I need you."<p>

Holly looked up from her grading to see Jeff hovering anxiously at her classroom door. "Jeff? What is it?"

"It's Blaine. He's in the music library closet...I think he fainted. Do you know CPR? Can you come help?"

"My God, of course." She shot right to her feet and grabbed her phone, sliding it into her skirt pocket. "Is he okay?"

"He seemed like it, but I didn't know what to do and I couldn't find any other teachers." Jeff was moving at a quick trot, forcing her to jog to keep up in her slingbacks. Holly cursed herself for being at this walking-intensive school for five entire weeks and still not managing to remember to wear more sensible shoes. Honestly, she had problems. However, Blaine had bigger problems at the moment, so she sucked it up and tried to ignore the blister she felt forming on her left heel.

"He was breathing at least, right?" She and Blaine might not have been on speaking terms, but Holly still _liked_ the kid and did want to be able to apologize for being meddlesome – eventually. Possibly before the school year was out. Maybe. It was taking her a little time to admit that she was wrong, okay? Jeez.

"Yes. He was breathing. Just not awake. It didn't look like he was hurt, so I guess he didn't get hit with anything? Just passed out."

"Hm. Odd. Maybe he didn't eat lunch."

"Maybe." Jeff held the door of Dunstable Hall open for her. "He gets super focused on studying sometimes, it wouldn't surprise me."

Their footsteps echoed in the empty hallways as they made their way to the rehearsal hall, the doors of which were standing open. The music library's door was also partially open, propped that way by a very large book. "Oh, good, you didn't just lock him in there."

In the closet, Blaine heard their voices and his eyes widened as the realization of what David's plan had been hit him. He began bouncing up and down as best he could, trying to shout through his gag but was only able to get out angry, incoherent grunts that Holly heard as she approached the door.

"It sounds like someone might be in there helping him already?" She frowned in confusion. "Did you call for help?"

"No, not yet. Can I use your phone? I lost mine, but I know who to call for help. I can do it while you check on him."

"Oh, sure." Holly dug it out of her pocket and passed it over to the boy. "Let's see how he's doing. Hey, who turned the light out?" She stepped inside and began groping around for a light switch.

"It's a pull cord," Jeff volunteered, slipping her phone into his own pocket without dialing a single number.

"Ah. Got it." Holly's hand found the cord for the overhead light and tugged it on, blinking as her eyes adjusted. "Jeff, are you sure he's - " At that moment, her gaze fell upon a bound and furious Blaine Anderson just as the door clicked shut and locked behind her. "Okay. This is a whole new way of gifting me a fruit basket." Stepping quickly over to remove the tie that was acting as a gag, she raised her voice and shouted back over her shoulder. "I appreciate the sentiment, I think, but we're not really each other's types."

"Forget it," Blaine snapped as his mouth was freed. "It's a trap. And wow, you just hit stratospheric levels of wild inappropriateness. _Fruit basket_? Really?"

"Lighten up, it was a joke. What do you mean, a trap?"

"We're not unlocking the door until you two make up and start talking again," David had returned to the room to witness the efficacy of his plan and was shouting from the other side of the door. "You're freaking us out. Fix it."

Holly spun around and started banging on the door. "David Hardwick! I will have you suspended!"

"Please, I graduate in a week and a half, Miss Holliday." David snorted with laughter. "I don't even take your class, so you can't all of a sudden fail me, either."

She was offended. "I would never have done _that_."

"Hi, back here? A little help?" Blaine yanked at his bonds. "Bondage doesn't really do it for me in this context."

"Are you saying it does something for you in _any_ context? Wait, don't answer that. I don't need to know." Holly moved over to kneel down next to Blaine and began working at the ties that attached him to the desk. "You shouldn't have pulled at them. Satin is a bitch to loosen when you've really tightened the knots down."

"And you're giving _me_ crap for talking about bondage? I don't want to know how you know these things. Just get me loose."

"Working on it, Mr. Impatient." She picked at a particularly stubborn knot. "Be happy they didn't use handcuffs. I left my bag back in the classroom, I don't have my spare key or lockpicking set with me."

"I don't want to know, I don't want to know, I don't want to know," Blaine chanted, squeezing his eyes shut and rhythmically bouncing his head off of the desk behind him.

"Quit that." Holly swatted at his knee before resuming work on his bonds. "So, how'd they get you in here?"

Blaine sighed and tipped his head back against the desk. "They told me Nick had an accident. You?"

"About the same. Except it was you having the accident." She managed to get one tie undone. "There. That's one."

He flexed and twisted his hand, which had fallen asleep. "My friends are the biggest jerks I know. What the hell were they thinking?"

"That they'd lock us in here and force us to interact, would be my guess," Holly replied dryly. "At least we're both accustomed to being in the closet."

"_So _inappropriate," Blaine objected. And then - "Wait, what?"

"Huh?"

"Did you say - "

"I didn't say anything."

He let it go. They sat in silence while Holly worked on the second tie, which had been the one that David the former Boy Scout had knotted. It was proving to be slightly trickier than the first one. "I may just make you chew through this," she mused, examining the knot more closely. "He really got this one good."

"I'd rather not. This isn't how I imagined my first clothing-removal-with-my-teeth experience to go, really." He smiled weakly at the teacher, who grinned in return.

"Snarky. I knew I liked you for a reason." She glanced around the room, spotting a pair of scissors on a nearby shelf. "Ah-ha. Scissors. We'll just cut you loose."

"Works for me. Not like David really needs any spare ties at this point." He accepted the scissors and got to work on the tie.

David, Nick, and Jeff were standing outside of the closet with their ears pressed to the door. Jeff looked up at the other two boys forlornly. "Those were _my_ spare ties."

"I'll give you mine when I go, Jeff," David assured him in a whisper. "Shh. They haven't gotten to the important part."

"We can hear you, you know," Blaine shouted in annoyance. "We're talking again. Are you happy now? Let us out."

"No way," David called back. "Not till you really make up."

Blaine thumped his head against the desk again. "So murdering you when we get out."

"You'll thank us later." David banged sharply on the door, twice. "We're going to get coffee. Get comfy and get to talking."

"Don't you _dare_ - " Holly broke off her indignant shout as she heard the rehearsal hall doors close behind the conspirators. "Damn it. We're stuck in here for at least twenty minutes."

Blaine used the scissors to snip away the last of the tie binding him to the desk and then removed his blazer. "At least they cracked that dinky little window up there." He pointed at the slim ventilation window running along the length of the wall at ceiling height. "We won't suffocate."

"Small favors," Holly grumbled, sliding down to sit against the door. They stared at each other in silence for several minutes.

"Listen, I - " Blaine began.

"Blaine, I'm - " Holly started.

They laughed and smiled ruefully at each other. "I'd like to go first," Holly offered hesitantly. At Blaine's nod, she went on. "You're right. I did let the Prom thing freak me out and get me all kinds of stupidly overprotective, and then I tried to manipulate you into staying at Dalton. I had good intentions, but..." She sighed. "Really lousy and unfair execution. I'm sorry, kid."

"It's okay." Blaine looked down and chuckled softly. "I let all the stress catch up to me and I know I overreacted. Apology accepted, and I'm extending one myself for being a stupid kid."

"Accepted." Holly laced her fingers together, tucking her hands behind her head against the door. "Well, hell, that was easy. And all we had to do was let it drag on so long that your friends thought the only solution was to lock us in a tiny room together. I don't think I like what that says about me as a person."

"Me neither," Blaine confessed. "I am definitely going to make 'being able to admit when I'm wrong' my summer project."

"Good plan." She looked inquiringly at him. "Is it nosy to ask you what your plans are for _tomorrow_?"

He shook his head. "You're my mentor, so no, it's not nosy at all. I'm going to present my appeal as an actual appeal, not a half-assed effort. I'm going to fight for my place here."

"Does that mean you've decided to stay?"

"I'm not fully sure." He hesitated. "I think so, though."

Holly nodded. "Can I ask why?"

"Yeah." Blaine leaned his head back against the desk and considered his words. "It occurred to me that I'd never even thought about leaving Dalton until I had to consider where I might go if I _couldn't_ go to Dalton anymore." Rachel had told him to think about exactly this after their dinner that seemed like forever ago. It had taken him much too long to do so. "Even when Kurt decided to go back to McKinley, my first thought wasn't 'Oh, I want to go with him.' It was, 'I'm really going to miss him.' I just took it for granted that I'd stay here and he'd go there. And that was fine until I got the letter."

"Then you panicked."

"Then I panicked," he agreed wryly. "It hasn't been my finest hour."

Holly shrugged and let her mouth turn up in a half-smile. "You're seventeen. You get a few of those to play with. Knowing you, you've got some stockpiled – use them soon, okay? Once you turn twenty or so, indecision and panic are way less charming."

"I'll keep that in mind." His responding smile was free of lingering worry and doubt for the first time in a month. It made her happy.

"I'm actually glad you decided to stay." She dropped her hands into her lap, crossing her legs under her skirt. "Not because of the safety issue. I think you and this school are good for each other."

He scrunched up his face in a questioning grin. "How do you mean?"

"You need each other. You should finish the job you started with loosening them up – since I can't be here." They smirked at each other briefly, and she continued on. "And you like it here. You have all these insane friends who apparently think so much of you and so want you to be happy that they'll tie you up in a closet to get you to make up an argument with a ridiculous substitute teacher. You're a good student, you're happy, and yeah, you're safe. I think you and Dalton are a good fit."

"That's the conclusion I came to," Blaine affirmed. "I miss Kurt, I want to be with him as much as I can – but this is my family. I think I'll have a long time in the future with him. I only get one more year with these guys."

"An astute observation." She leaned over with her fist out and he met her halfway for a comradely bump. "Now all you have to do is pass the appeal."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll do my best." For a moment, he ducked his head, looked back up at her from under his lashes. "Hey, Miss Holliday?"

"Those eyes of yours could either cause a war or bring about world peace, I can't decide which," she mused, completely charmed. "What's up?"

His cheeks were pink from the compliment, but he soldiered on. "Why do you like subbing instead of permanent teaching? You're really intelligent and kids like you."

"Parents don't." Holly sighed with a tiny smirk. "And I like being itinerant. I like the freedom. I'm not a girl who settles down, kid. And I'm super ADD – I like that as soon as I get bored with a subject, my assignment ends and I can go on to another one." She tipped up her shoulder in an idle shrug. "It's what I like. It works for me."

"Ah." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Would you take a permanent position? If a chance came along?"

She shook her head, still smiling. "I don't think so. Any special reason you want to know?"

"Curiosity."

"Mm." Holly turned her head and pressed her ear to the door. "I think I hear voices coming down the hall. Are we all Diet Cokes and Kumbayahs again?"

"Yup. I'm thinking so." Blaine pushed up to his feet and helped the teacher to hers. "As a gesture of reconciliation, since you're in those _very_ cute but entirely impractical heels, would you like me to chase our captors down and give them Indian burns and noogies when they let us out?"

Holly beamed. "I thought you'd never ask."

_**Author's Note: **Surprise? This came faster than I had anticipated, so I had to post it._

_But this means only two more chapters, you guys. We're almost done._

_Thank you all so very much for your feedback and support. I am so grateful for everyone who thought this looked like a fun party bus to ride. You wonderful, nutty people. I will never be able to thank you enough._


	20. Letters: A Reprise

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_Disclaimer: Glee and its characters do not belong to me. Chapter takes place directly after the events of "New York," and mentions events that occurred in the episode. _

**Chapter Nineteen – Letters: A Reprise**

"Well, here we are again."

Holly had spotted the anomalous envelope as soon as she opened her mailbox. There it was, tucked amongst the utility bills and advertising circulars, standing out like a single rose in a bouquet of daisies. Thick, heavy, creamy stationery. Perfect calligraphic lettering. A heraldic insignia stamped in red wax. Yes, she'd been here before, and exactly like that time, she found herself confused by the letter's presence.

It sat on her coffee table now, all by itself and glowing creamy white against the cheap mahogany-like veneer. Holly herself was perched on the sofa staring at it, beer bottle in hand, contents already drunk down to the halfway point. A second bottle was sitting at her feet, ready to go as soon as she'd finished the first one and eaten some of the nachos she'd picked up on the way home from school.

_Two beers is the limit, no matter what that letter says,_ she told herself, shoving a handful of cheese-covered tortilla chips into her mouth and licking her fingers. No sense in getting blindly drunk and hungover when she had a final exam to administer tomorrow. Three more big swigs of beer and the empty first bottle joined the unopened letter on the coffee table.

They wouldn't fire her by letter, right? Seriously, not during finals week. And what had she done, anyway? Michaelson hadn't gotten _that_ upset over her temper tantrum, had he? Or, no, wait, what if they were actually formally telling her via letter that they never wanted to hire her as a substitute again? That would be pretty freakin' cold, she decided. It wasn't like they needed substitutes very often anyway, they didn't have to put it in _writing_ that they didn't like her.

She was pretty glad, at the moment, that she'd also thought to pick up a pint of Rocky Road.

_For God's sake, Holly, read the damn letter._

"No. I don't want to." She stuffed her mouth full of more cheese and chips, choosing to ignore the idiocy of having a conversation with herself.

_It wouldn't be the end of the world if they fired you. You could start your vacation a week early._

That made her sulk. "I don't want to start my vacation a week early." Slumping back into the couch cushions, she glared at the letter and took a long drink from her second beer. She knew she was being silly and childish, but really, she did not want to open a letter that told her in formal language that she totally sucked.

It took most of a third beer – _no but seriously that's the last one_ – and half the pint of ice cream before Holly finally sighed and reached over to pick up the letter. She weighed it in her hand for a moment before setting down her bottle and cracking the seal. Tucked inside was a single page of matching thick, creamy, expensive paper. She couldn't even see the typed words through it, it was so heavy.

With a sigh, she extracted it, slowly unfolded it, and began to read.

Sixty seconds later in a private school dorm room in Westerville, Blaine Anderson's cell phone beeped with an incoming message..

Message From Queen Inappropriate: _You knew about this._

Message From Fruit Basket: _Give me a second to hang up with Kurt on Skype._

Holly's phone pealed out two bars of 'Girl From Ipanema' before she finally clicked to accept the call. "Explain," she demanded, shoveling in another bite of ice cream.

Blaine sighed. "I don't really know, actually. I sort of guessed that's what it was when they gave it to me to mail out, though. I knew they weren't going to fire you, not by letter and not that close to finals, so I just figured it would be a permanent offer."

"Jesus Christ." Blindly, she reached for her beer and took a long pull. She heard rustling on his end of the line that she assumed was the sound of him settling in for a long conversation.

"So I know that you said you liked the freedom of substituting and that you're as easily distracted as a chipmunk on a sugar high - "

"I don't think I put it quite like that," Holly interrupted, slightly put out.

" - but seriously, would it be that bad, working at Dalton? Is it the school you don't like? Is it us?"

"I think you all know by now that I like you just fine," she sighed. "And Dalton has grown on me. The challenge of taking it on and turning it _completely_ upside down is very tempting."

"So what, then?"

"It's nothing more complex than what I told you, kid." She emptied the bottle and lined it up on the coffee table with the other two. "I don't want a permanent position anywhere. I'm not actually a very complicated person, when it comes down to it. I'm remarkably _selfish_, but not complicated."

Silence was the only response from Blaine's end for several moments. Well, physical silence. She could practically _hear_ him thinking. At last, whatever decision he was turning over seemed to be made and he spoke. "It's not...I just...one thing, okay? Are you running from anything?"

If she'd had any beer left, she'd have committed a cardinal sin and spat it across the room in her surprise. "What's this? Are you trying again to psychoanalyze me or be helpful or whatever?"

"Well – yes!" Holly could practically see the earnest, helpful face that she _knew_ Blaine was making right now. It made her cover her face with her hand and work to hide the laughter. "I meant it when I said that you helped me. I would like to help you! If you need it. Oh, come on! What?"

She was snorting out giggles, now completely unable to hide her mirth. "I know you're seventeen going on fifty, kid, but my God, the day I accept head-shrinking from a teenager is the day I just _give up on life._ Honestly. Blaine, I am not a felon or a fugitive or some damaged chick who's trying to get away from her painful past, okay? I just like being a substitute teacher. We're going to leave it at that now."

"Fine." He was clearly sulking. "I just wanted to help."

"Thank you. I appreciate it. You're a good kid, just...go analyze someone else, please, I can't take much more laughing, I had nachos for dinner and half a pint of ice cream."

"Comfort eating?" His voice sounded almost hopeful, and Holly rolled her eyes.

"Lazy cook. Quit it."

"Okay, I get it, I get it." A huffy sigh came down the line. "Oh, hey, I got a letter of my own today."

"Yeah?" She got up from the couch and picked up the bottles to take them to the recycling bin, tucking the phone between her head and shoulder. "What'd yours say? It's a little early for them to hire you in my place."

"Ha, ha. I am convulsed with laughter." Paper crackled. "It's basically a confirmation of what they told me at the hearing. In light of your record, hardship caused by being unable to live on campus, exemplary student, please refrain from throwing parties that end up in destruction of school property, blah blah blah et cetera, we welcome you back to Dalton Academy's student housing for the 2011-2012 academic year, the end."

"You going to take them up on it?"

"Yup. Made the final decision. I realized that apart from anything else, do you know what it looks like on a college application, attending three different high schools in three years? Kurt and I are supposed to go to school in New York, I don't think NYU or Columbia or SUNY would be much interested in a student that comes off that flaky."

"Fair enough. Hey, speaking of Kurt. I heard Nationals was..."

She could swear Blaine was stifling a cough of laughter. "...a trainwreck?"

"I think Will said it simply hadn't gone as well as they would have liked, but I can read between the lines." Holly snickered and resumed her perch on the sofa. "Something about Finn kissing Rachel and the audience going deathly silent and I guess Rachel's ex-boyfriend was there as some kind of...consultant?"

"The less said about Jesse, the better," Blaine replied. "His name still makes Kurt seize up and make this...weird, high pitched squealing noise? I don't even know what all happened there or what Jesse had to do with anything." He paused, and Holly could hear him thinking again. "I've...to be honest, Miss Holliday, I've kind of quit asking Kurt to clarify anything at all to do with New Directions. I just end up more confused than when we started."

"Try," Holly responded airily, "teaching them. Have you ever tried to herd a pack of meth-addled squirrels from point A to point B?"

"...no? Have you?"

"I feel that I have had equivalent practical experience." She snuggled back into the cushions. "Have you told Kurt you're staying?"

"I told him a little before I got your message," he replied. "No procrastinating this time! Are you proud of me?"

"Hell yeah I am. Good job, kid. Is he okay with it?"

Blaine hummed a non-committal sort of noise. "Mostly? He understands my reasoning for it. Dalton's my family like McKinley is his. He gets that. We're both sad we don't get to see each other every day, but then it occurred to us that, like, everyone who dates in New Directions sees each other every day and...yeah, so, that doesn't seem to work out so well for them."

Holly arched a single eyebrow. She knew he couldn't see it but she'd bet he knew she was doing it. "Distance is your good luck charm?"

"Hey, when all else fails...whatever. Besides, I love him, he knows that. In the end, that's what matters most."

Now both eyebrows were up. "Oh, well well, kid. It's love, is it?"

He coughed. "Yes. It is. But the point of _our_ conversation is, I'm staying at Dalton." The satisfaction in his voice was enough for her. She smiled.

"For which we are all grateful. I'm assuming. Have you let the guys know, too?"

"I told the Council." She heard him drop what sounded like a book on his desk and pull out the chair. "Wes is thrilled. They're holding Council elections at this Thursday's meeting. If I get voted to next year's Council, he's going to make me Chairman, God help us all."

"Oh, you'll be great at it. You're exactly what they need and you know it, or you will one day." Her ice cream was melting. How annoying. She tipped up the cardboard carton to drink down some of the sugary sludge before she asked her last question. "And this stupid crap about how you're a cowardly runner – you're done with that, right? Now that everyone and their _mom_ has had to tell you that you're absolutely fine?" She giggled at his indignant gasp.

"Shut up! I thought we were chalking that up to me cashing in one of my 'Not Your Finest Hour' cards."

"Oh, please, that doesn't mean I can't pick on you about it." No way could Holly keep back her superior, mocking tone. "Have you met me?"

"Much to my eternal - "

She cut him off. "Hey, be nice. I _helped_ you."

"I know." A happy, indulgent sigh. "Miss Holliday, it's been pretty great having you around these last few weeks. I'm actually sorry you won't be there next year."

"Hey, don't count me out," Holly shot back. "I do intend to let Michaelson know I'm _totally_ on board for any mid-length subbing jobs that open up. I hear Madame Ducharme is going home to Provence next spring break, I'm sure there's some weird French disease she could catch that would take her out for the rest of the school year."

"No," Blaine replied thoughtfully, "but I think I could find a way to anonymously set her up with Nick's cousin that lives over there. They're both young, single, attractive, and fluent in French. If she falls in love she might never come back."

"_Really_? You matchmaker, you." She was laughing again as she licked at a spoonful of melting Rocky Road. "That's help I would accept, how come you never made any suggestions to me?"

"As it happens, I do know this recently divorced Spanish teacher - "

_Yikes. _"Never mind," she interrupted hurriedly. "I'll pass."

"Probably for the best. Listen, Miss Holliday, I'm sorry, I've got to go. English Lit final tomorrow. I need to study." He actually did sound sorry. It made her smile a little. Seriously, he was the nicest student she'd ever had.

"Right on, kid. See you Thursday afternoon?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." The smile was audible in his voice too before he clicked off.

Holly dropped her phone gently on the coffee table and picked the letter back up, scooping another bit of ice cream as she did. _It is with great pleasure,_ she read, _that the Dalton Academy for Boys offers Ms. Holly Holliday a permanent position as Teacher of Geography for the 2011-2012 academic year._

Seriously, the crack they just had to be smoking.

She was angry at the offer, though. Angry because there was a part of her that really wanted to accept it and how _dare_ they put her in this position, this ridiculous position of having to turn down a really good job that she actually kind of wanted but knew in the end she would completely screw up?

It made her face herself down in ways that made her uncomfortable. Despite what she'd told Blaine – because of course she hadn't spilled the entire truth to a _student_, no matter how much she liked him – she _was _running, a little. Running from the concept of being in one place for too damn long. If she stayed in one place too long she started getting complacent, comfortable, and that just led to the possibility of being hurt. Taking a permanent position at Dalton would just end up with her doing something totally outrageous when she got bored and antsy, and then fleeing the school like it was on fire. Striking out to hurt before she could be the one getting hurt. That's how she was.

She found herself both not wanting to leave Dalton, and yet knowing full well that there was no way in hell that she could stay.

One of these days, Holly knew, she was going to have to seriously go into therapy and take care of her myriad issues. Today, though? So not that day. Today was just a day where she ate an entire pint of ice cream and a double serving of cheese nachos washed down with too much beer, all while she was trying to figure out the nicest way to turn down a job offer she actually might have loved to take if she weren't so entirely messed up.

Holly Holliday wasn't complicated. It was _life_ that was complicated, and a total bitch to boot.

**_Author's Note:_ **_It's short. I didn't want it to be - you deserve more words, you lovely people! - but I also didn't want to pad it unnecessarily. So it is a little short, and it's the penultimate chapter. I thought we had four weeks left in us, but the words just keep flowing. I think the story is more ready to be done with me than I am to be done with it._

_I don't even know what else to say except thank you, thank you to everyone. I have, I think, the nicest readers in the fandom. I am happy and grateful for all of you who stuck with me while I worked through what is actually my first ever fanfiction - and I had to go make it a freakin' novel! You're all so, so marvelous and I thank you. I'll have the last chapter up when I can face sitting down and finish writing it!_


	21. There's A Last Time For Everything

**Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton**

_And...deep breaths. Last disclaimer: I do not own Glee. There will be an author's note on my Tumblr (glass-parade dot tumblr dot com). Okay, here we go._

**Chapter Twenty – There's A Last Time For Everything**

"Hey. No costume for finals?"

Holly glanced over at her classroom doorway, taking in a sight that had become familiar over the last six weeks. "Hey, kid. Nah, I was gonna come as Christopher Columbus, but you have no idea how hard it is to drive a Civic in 15th century Spanish pantaloons. Come on in."

Blaine ambled into the classroom, digging something out of his satchel as he did so. "Brought you a mango. To replace the one I stole." With a grin, he lobbed the fruit to her in a lazy underhanded throw. She grinned back and caught it easily, placing it gently on her desk.

"Thank you, kind sir." Holly angled her head in a friendly nod. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure? Are you here to escort me to the last Warblers meeting?"

"Mm. In a manner of speaking." He leaned on one of the desks, dumping his bag to the floor. "Question for you first."

She blinked. "Sure. Shoot."

"There's really nothing that can induce you to stay on here at Dalton. You're sure?" He looked so hopeful that it pained Holly to have to answer negatively.

"I'm sorry, Blaine." She spread her hands out in an apologetic shrug. "I am at the top of the subbing list from here on out – despite my insanity, Michaelson apparently likes that my methods get good results – but no. I'm not going to take that permanent position." She was slightly regretful, but resolute. She would not risk inflicting permanent damage on this school and it's students. Not at Dalton. If she liked a place well enough to almost want to stay there, she wasn't going to chance burning her bridges with it.

Blaine sighed and smiled sadly at her. "Well, we knew that was probably going to be your answer."

"We?" Holly tilted her head, confused. Blaine just continued to smile as he walked back over to the classroom door and leaned outside, his hand gripping the doorjamb as he called out down the hall.

"Come on, guys! It's time!"

Her consternation grew. "Time for _what_?"

He pulled himself back in and spun to face her, still smiling. "You'll see. Take a seat."

"Okay..." She wandered back to her desk, dropping down into the chair and crossing her legs. "Whenever you're ready – hey, what's this?"

The Warblers were making their way into her classroom, arranging themselves behind Blaine in their performance stance – hands clasped before them, smiles on their faces. Only not show smiles, no, these were wistful, sad smiles that matched their lead singer's.

"It's only been six weeks," Blaine began, "and we didn't want an Advisor. We resented the faculty's assumption that we needed one." He glanced down at his feet and took a deep breath. "But in that very short time, you've really grown on us, Miss Holliday. We wouldn't mind having to have an Advisor next year if it were you."

She was touched. "Oh, guys, I'm sor - "

"No, really, it's okay." Blaine held up his hand, cutting her off with another smile. "We understand. We do. And hopefully the ones of us not graduating, we'll still get to see you next year on subbing assignments. But since this is your last day as our Advisor, we wanted to see you off in the way that we do best." He turned back to the other Warblers. "Okay, guys. Let's do this."

Holly did not cry. She was not going to cry now. She would, however, acknowledge the presence of a suspicious moisture prickling behind her eyelids as the boys began a familiar intro, half of them humming sweetly, the other half wordlessly crooning a melody reminiscent of plucking guitar strings. When Blaine began spinning out the first lines of one of her favorite songs in a low, melancholy tenor, she had to reach for a tissue to take care of whatever it was she'd gotten stuck in her eye.

_Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river_

_You can hear the boats go by_

_You can spend the night beside her_

_And you know that she's half crazy_

_But that's why you want to be there..._

They'd had to be working on this for ages. Leonard Cohen sang in a lower register than Blaine, which meant they'd had to transpose it and arrange it for a cappella at the same time, this song that was older than any of them that maybe most of them had never even heard of. And they did it for _her._ Wow, the dust levels in this room were really high, did the cleaning staff never dust in here? Something was causing her to sniffle.

_And she feeds you tea and oranges_

_That come all the way from China_

_And just when you mean to tell her_

_That you have no love to give her_

_Then she gets you on her wavelength_

_And she lets the river answer..._

It went on in a beautiful, melodic, perfect wave of music, washing its affection over her like a warm bath. Holly sat clutching her tissue and occasionally dabbing at her eyes – man, seasonal allergies were a real bitch, right? - a smile of wonder and joy on her face. Dude, she got her own Warblers concert with a personally arranged and beautifully performed cover of 'Suzanne,' she was pretty sure she had to be the luckiest substitute alive.

It was the perfect farewell.

"..._and you know that you can trust her, for she's touched your perfect body with her mind..._" The boys all trailed off together, the last notes of the song hanging in the air for a moment before everything went silent. They looked anxiously at each other and at Holly, who couldn't _believe_ how high the pollen count had to be today, like, seriously, she was on her second tissue. Blaine shrugged at his friends and stepped over to the teacher, placing a worried hand on her shoulder. "Miss Holliday? Are you okay? Was it all right?"

"You guys..." Holly's voice caught in her throat as she looked up at Blaine, and she had to swallow to clear it before she could go on. "That was _amazing. _How did you even know?"

"You mentioned it that day we all thought you were going to kill me," Jeff replied cheerfully. "You said you liked Leonard Cohen."

"Exactly," Blaine agreed, nodding. "So I got the idea then, and we went looking for songs. This one made us think of you. I mean, I know it's not the most _appropriate_ song to sing to a teacher, but we looked at the others and...well. We liked this one. Was it okay?"

"Amazing," Holly repeated. "Oh, jeez, come here. I want to hug all of you." She got to her feet, flapping her hands in a beckoning gesture and found herself quickly swamped by affectionate Warblers. "I swear, this has been the best assignment. You are all so awesome, seriously. Just promise me one thing for next year." She glanced around at all of them, one arm slung around Blaine and the other around Nick.

"Anything – er, within reason," Blaine answered, nodding and hugging her.

"Raise hell. Do it in the most inobtrusive, Dalton boy way that you can manage, but do it. Keep loosening this place up. Remember that you can get away with a _lot_ under the umbrella excuse of, 'we were just practicing our art form.'" She beamed at the group as they erupted in cheers and laughter. "You're rock stars. You know it. Never forget it." Abruptly, she paused. "Ahem. Whoever's got their hand on my rear, I don't want to know who it is. Just remove it now before you pull back a stump."

Jeff backed away from the group, a slightly guilty look on his face before Flint reached over and nailed him with his trusty knucklepunch. It made the sophomore's eyes water as he fought not to yelp in agony. Nick shot him an incredulous look, mouthing, _you earned that, bro._

Wes pushed over to give Holly a hug. "_You're_ the best, Miss Holliday. It's genuinely been a privilege. May I ask you to preside over our final meeting and Council election – and is it okay if we take over your classroom to do it?"

Holly stepped back and waved a hand around the room. "Be my guest. You can borrow my desk. Oh, one condition, though." She picked up the fruit bowl, still alarmingly full, and handed it to Jeff to pass around the room. "Everyone has to take at least one apple with them. Dalton boys have officially exceeded my capacity for the number of apples I can face. Blaine, take two."

"What? Why do I have to take two?"

She picked up the mango and waved it at him. "I appreciate this, but it's an extra piece of fruit that you brought into my classroom."

"I can take it back." He leaned over to reach for it and grinned as she snatched it back out of his reach.

"Absolutely not. Mine. Mine, mine, mine. It's not an apple so I'm keeping it. Apples for you, take two." Holly cradled the mango protectively to her chest and glared at Blaine until he laughed and stopped teasing.

"If you two are done flirting?" Wes raised an eyebrow at the two of them, who shot him a noisy raspberry (Holly) and a stellar eyeroll (Blaine) in return. "Excellent." He pulled his gavel out of his pocket and rapped on the desktop. "I hereby call the year's final meeting of the Dalton Academy Warblers to order." The rest of the boys scrambled to take seats in the desks around the classroom, David and Thad assuming places standing next to Wes behind the teacher's desk.

"Our first and really only order of business today is the election of next year's Council," David announced, looking around the room. "Remember that these are the guys you're putting in charge of your performance agendas, choreography, and soloist selection. They're the ones who will get you to Sectionals and Regionals and, hopefully, Nationals."

"So choose wisely," Thad added, pulling out a ballot box and a stack of index cards. "I'll pass these cards around – hope you all brought pens, because I didn't - "

"I have some, sheesh." Holly handed a box of pens over to Thad, who smiled in gratitude and began handing the writing utensils and ballots around the room.

"When you've made your choices – three names only, please, and only those who will be seniors – come put your ballot into the box. One ballot per Warbler." Thad finished off his instructions and distribution, and plopped down into a desk with the ballot box to wait.

He didn't have to wait long. Within five minutes the box was full and the Warblers were all back in their seats, looking expectantly at their stunned Council. "Well," Wes stammered, trying to regain equilibrium. "How very...efficient...of you all..."

"Get to counting, Fletcher," shouted Flint from his perch in the back of the classroom, sprawled out across two desks and munching on a handful of grapes like an idle young lord. Blaine reached over and swatted at the back of his head, earning a hurled grape to the temple in return, which set off a noisy scuffle between the two as Blaine tried to give his compatriot a serious noogie.

"Behave like civilized humans and not apes, you two." Thad snapped as he dumped the ballots onto Holly's desk. "And get your feet off the furniture, Wilson." He ignored Flint's answering middle finger in favor of neatly tallying votes on a spare index card.

It only took slightly longer than the voting – the tallying was abandoned when it became clear that the votes on the fourteen cards were identical. "Well, you've made our job remarkably easy," David observed, tossing the last card back down on the desk.

Wes got to his feet. "Then without further ado...you know that you guys select the Council, and the retiring Council selects the succeeding Chairman. Our choice is as unanimous as yours. Your 2011-2012 Warblers Council will be Flint Wilson, Trent Davies, and Chairman Blaine Anderson. God help you all." His broad grin made sure the boys all knew he was joking. The room exploded in cheers and backslapping for a bemused, but happy Blaine. Wes shoved into the crowd and pulled the new Chairman out, slapping the gavel into his hand. "All right, go on up there and get to leading, Chairman."

"Wow. Um...okay then." Blaine made his way up to the desk, pausing to squeeze Holly's hand and exchange a quick grin. He tentatively rapped the gavel down on the desktop. "I uh..."

"Speak up! And wield that gavel with _purpose_, Anderson!" Wes hollered from the middle of the room, hands in blazer pockets and a completely idiotic grin of satisfaction on his face.

"Yeah, all right." Blaine laughed and smacked the gavel down harder. "Order, order!"

The room quieted down, everyone beaming up at their new leader with affectionate pride. Flint and Trent joined Blaine at the desk, both of them displaying delight and uncertainty in equal measure. Holly couldn't wipe the grin off her face. She thought it was a perfect choice for next year's Council, and she briefly wished again that she felt comfortable taking the permanent job. Watching those three leading the Warblers' charge – Flint's laid-back attitude and Trent's pomposity perfectly balanced by Blaine's exuberant good nature and need to tear down walls – would have been as good as any epic movie.

Blaine cleared his throat. "So my first order of business is to banish the single soloist rule. I think we've all shown that we're capable of leading the Warblers to greatness. We were all at the alumni fundraiser and we all know that we knocked it out of the park." He paused while grumbles and surprise circulated the room, waving them back down into silence when it went on a little too long. "We'll choose songs we want to do and find a soloist to fit them, rather than limiting ourselves to whatever the soloist of the year can do. I think we'll have more flexibility that way, and we can open up our repertoire."

Trent nodded. "I completely agree. We'll need to meet with Headmaster Michaelson, of course, but I'm sure that won't be a problem. He thinks Blaine hung the moon." Playfully, he jabbed the arm of the new Chairman, who was blushing furiously and shaking his head.

"Well, we want to meet with him anyway. Since Regionals is part of what landed us an Advisor, and we don't want a new one – I personally wouldn't accept anyone but Miss Holliday, and I'm sure I speak for the group as a whole when I say that." Cheers of agreement ringed the room and made Holly duck her head and grin. "That means going to the Headmaster and explaining to him _why_ we've chosen the songs that we have for competition. We might have to compromise a little, but I bet just the gesture of communicating with him will count for a lot." He grinned. "Remember, he didn't like 'Raise Your Glass,' but there is _no_ denying that we brought the house _down_ with that, right?"

Louder cheers, including one from Holly. At the looks of incredulity she got from the boys, she shrugged. "Well, you _did._ I bookmarked it on YouTube. Shut up."

"Ahem. If we could get back to the meeting?" Trent cast an imperious gaze around the room, ignoring the eye rolls this got.

"My second order of business," Blaine mumbled, suddenly bashful as he looked at his friends and hunted for words, "Is to thank you all. Thank you all for standing by me when I didn't know what I was going to do. Thank you for not abandoning me when I got huffy and snappy and shouted at you. Thank you for trusting me enough to be your leader as we make another stab towards Nationals – and I'd just like to say that I fully expect us to _steamroller _McKinley High School next year, got it?" Everyone shouted with laughter, whoops and happy hollers from every corner. "I'd also like to thank David, Nick, and Jeff for locking me in a closet with Miss Holliday and forcing us to resolve a silly argument – though do not even think I've _forgotten_ that I still owe you revenge for that."

"Hey, but it all worked out for you in the end," David protested, dismayed. Blaine's revenge pranks had a habit of being brilliant and psychologically problematic. Thad still shuddered when he walked past Jell-O displays at the grocery store. "Come on, Anderson, no hard feelings, yeah?"

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "You _tied_ me to a _desk_. In a _closet. _And I know where you live. Literally." His smile managed to be a perfect mingling of innocence and evil. "You really should have thought of that."

The conspirators all looked distinctly uncomfortable. Holly had to look away from the room in order to hide her smirk. She was with Blaine on this one, even if, as a teacher, she couldn't take part or condone it. Looking back up, she winked, and he winked back. That seemed to remind him of something. He took another breath and smiled at her.

"I'd also like to thank Miss Holliday on a personal level." His face turned red again, tips of his ears stained a more delicate pink. "She pushed and meddled and...listened. When things were getting really confusing, she was there. I know you think of yourself as tough and selfish and crazy, and, yeah. Maybe you are all of these things. But you're also daring and fantastic and way too smart for your own good, and...you're awesome. You're just completely awesome, Miss Holliday. Thank you for being there for us. For me." Before Holly could react, Blaine's arms were wrapped around her in a fierce hug, and she'd gotten something in her eye again, damn it.

"_You're_ awesome," she breathed, smiling delightedly and hugging him back. "You guys are everything I love about teaching. You're insane, you're brilliant, you're focused – you're all going to take over the world. And you taught me that private schools, while still deeply in need of being shaken up, are not the horribly stifling institutions of no-fun that I'd previously thought. I have a lot of thanks for you guys as well."

She pulled back from the embrace and ruffled Blaine's hair, ignoring his squawk of protest at the disarrangement of his tidy locks. "All righty then. That's a lot of business for your first meeting, kid. Tell me you don't have anything else."

"Actually, I do. Just one more thing." Blaine took a deep breath and grinned broadly around the room, obviously planning something big. "Just one last thing that I think is super important that we do. For getting through this year, for going further than we ever have in competition, for vowing to shake up how things are done here..."

"God, spit it out, Anderson." David snatched one of Flint's grapes and hurled it at Blaine, who caught it and threw it right back. With a huge grin spreading uncontrollably across his face, Blaine leaned over on his palms, clearly pleased with himself, and issued the last order of business for the meeting.

"Gentlemen, I propose that we throw one _hell_ of a party."


End file.
